AND"; 

J  O  H  f 


BANGS 


UC-NRLF 


: 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


TELL   HIM   TO  ASK   FOR   MRS.   VVII.LOUGHBY   HAWKINS '*' 

\Pagt  25 


THE  BICYCLERS 


AND  THREE  OTHER  FARCES 


BY 


JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK   AND   LONDON 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

IQOI 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 


THK  ENOUANTKD  TYPK- 
WUITEB.  Illustrated  by 
PKTBB  NEWKLL.  16mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

COFFEE  AND  REPABTKB  and 
THE  IDIOT.  1  vol.  Il- 
lustrated. 16rao,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1  00. 

TUB  DBKAMKBS:  A  CLUB. 
Illustrated  by  EDWARD 
PENFIELD.  16mo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1  25. 

PKKFS  AT  PEOPLE.  Pas- 
sages from  the  Writings 
of  Anne  Warrington 
Withernp,  Journalist. 
Illustrated  by  EI>WARD 
PENFIELD.  16mo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  $1  25. 

A  HOUSE-BOAT  ON  THE 
STYX.  Being  Some  Ac- 
count of  the  Divers  Do- 
ings of  the  Associated 
Shades.  Illustrated  by 
PKTKB  NKWELL.  16mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

THK  PUBSDIT  OF  TUB 
HOUSE-BOAT.  Being 
Some  Further  Account 
of  the  Doings  of  the  As- 
sociated Shades,  under 
the  Leadership  of  Sher- 
lock Holmes,  Esq.  Illus- 
trated by  PETER  NKWELL. 
16mo,  Cloth,  Ornament- 
al, $1  25. 


PASTE  JEWELS.  Being 
Seven  Tales  of  Domestic 
Woe.  16mo,  Cloth,  Or- 
namental, $1  00. 

GHOSTS  I  HATE  MET,  AND 
SOME  OTHERS.  With  Il- 
lustrations by  NEWELL, 
FROST,  and  RICHARDS. 
16mo,  Cloth,  Ornament- 
al, $1  25. 

THEBlOYOLERS,  AND  THREE 

OTHER  FAROES.  Illus- 
trated. 16mo,  Cloth,  Or- 
namental, $1  25. 

A  REBELLIOUS  HEROINE. 
A  Story.  Illustrated  by 
W.  T.  SMKDLKY.  16mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  Un- 
cut Edges,  $1  25. 

MR.  BONAPARTE  OF  COR- 
SICA. Illustrated  by  H. 
W.  MoVioKAB.  16mo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental, 
$1  25. 

THE  WATER  GHOST,  AND 
OTHERS.  Illustrated. 
16mo,  Cloth,  Ornament- 
al, $1  25. 

THREE  WEEKS  IN  POLITICS. 
Illustrated.  32mo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  50  cents. 

COFFEE  AND  RKPABTEE.  Il- 
lustrated. 32mo,  Cloth, 
Ornamental,  50  cents. 


NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON  : 
HARPER  &   BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS. 


Copyright,  1896,  by  HARPER  & 

All  rights  reserved. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  BICYCLERS I 

A  DRAMATIC  EVENING 41 

THE  FATAL  MESSAGE 85 

A  PROPOSAL  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES          .  126 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

'"TELL  HIM  TO  ASK  FOR  MRS.  WILLOUGHBY 

HAWKINS'" Frontispiece 

"THOSE  ODIOUS  PSYCHE  KNOTS" 3 

"'MY  ELDEST?'" 5 

THE  KI-YI   GUN 9 

ENTER  BARLOW  AND  YARDSLEY 13 

"  '  HAVE  YOU  A  SHAWL- STRAP  IN  THE  HOUSE?'  "  21 

"'WHERE?     THE  POLICE-STATION  !'"     .facing  24 

"' MISSUS   WILLERBY  'A WKINS '" 32 

"' POOR,  DEAR   EDWARD  ?'" 35 

"*  KINDLY   PRETEND   I'M   A   SHAWL'"      ...  39 

"'GLAD  TO  SEE  ME?'" 45 

"  '  I'LL  BE  GLAD  TO  IF  YOU'LL  CARRY  THE  SOFT 

PEDAL'" 53 

"'YOU  SEE,  WE  PUT  THE  TUB  HERE'".    .    .  6 1 

'"IT  WOULD  BE  AWKWARD'" 65 

"  'THIS  HAS  SOMETHING  TO  DO  WITH  IT1",  facing  78 


viii  Illustrations 

PAGE 

'"HE'S  BEEN  THERE  THREE  HOURS  NOW*"  .  83 

"'DIVINE  CREATURE'" 129 

"'I'LL  TIME  YOU'" 135 

"'START  AT  ONCE'" 136 

"' CHARMING,  ISN'T  IT  ?'" 145 

"' WHAT'S  UP,  ANYHOW  ?'" 152 

''PST!'" facing  158 

'"  WHY,  JENNIE  !'"      .      . l62 

HICKS 175 


THE   BICYCLERS 
AND   THREE   OTHER   FARCES 


THE    BICYCLERS 


CHARACTERS  : 

MR.  ROBEKT  YARDS-LEY,  an  expert. 
MR.  JACK  BARLOW,  anotJier. 
MR.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  a  beginner, 
MR.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  a  scoffer. 
MRS.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  a  resistant. 
MRS.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  an  enthusiast. 
JENNIE,  a  maid. 

7^ he  scene  is  laid  in  the  drawing-room  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thaddeus  Perkins,  at  No.  —  Gram- 
ercy  Square.  It  is  late  October ;  the  action 
begins  at  8.30  o'clock  on  a  moonlight  evening. 
The  curtain  rising  discloses-  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Perkins  sitting  together.  At  right  is  large 
window  facing  on  square.  At  rear  is  en- 
trance to  drawing-room.  Leaning  against 
doorway  is  a  safety  bicycle.  Perkins  is  clad 
in  bicycle  garb. 

Perkins.  Well,  Bess,  I'm  in  for  it  now, 
and  no  mistake.  Bob  and  Jack  are  coming 
to-night  to  give  me  my  first  lesson  in  biking. 


2  The  Bicyclers 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I'm  very  glad  of  it,  Thad- 
deus.  I  think  it  will  do  you  a  world  of  good. 
You've  been  working  too  hard  of  late,  and 
you  need  relaxation. 

Perkins  (doubtfully).  I  know  that — but — 
from  what  I  can  gather,  learning  to  ride  a 
wheel  isn't  the  most  restful  thing  in  the 
world.  There's  a  good  deal  of  lying  down 
about  it;  but  it  comes  with  too  great  sud- 
denness ;  that  is,  so  Charlie  Cheeseborough 
says.  He  learned  up  at  the  Academy,  and 
he  told  me  that  he  spent  most  of  his  time 
making  dents  in  the  floor  with  his  head. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well,  I  heard  differently. 
Emma  Bradley  learned  there  at  the  same 
time  he  did,  and  she  said  he  spent  most  of 
his  time  making  dents  in  the  floor  with  other 
people's  heads.  Why,  really,  he  drove  all  the 
ladies  to  wearing  those  odious  Psyche  knots. 
The  time  he  ran  into  Emma,  if  she  hadn't 
worn  her  back  hair  that  way  she'd  have  fract- 
ured her  skull. 

Perkins.  Ha,  ha!  They  all  tell  the  same 
story.  Barlow  said  he  always  wore  a  beaver 
hat  while  Cheeseborough  was  on  the  floor,  so 


The  Bicyclers 


that  if  Charlie  ran  into  him  and  he  took  a 
header  his  brain  wouldn't  suffer. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Cheese- 
borough  learned  more  quickly  than  any  one 
else  in  the  class. 


THOSE   ODIOUS    PSYCHE    KNOTS  " 


Perkins.  So  Barlow  said — because  he  wasn't 
eternally  in  his  own  way,  as  he  was  in  every 
one  else's.  {A  ring  is  heard  at  the  front  door.) 
Ah !  I  guess  that's  Bob  and  Jack. 


4  The  Bicyclers 

Enter  Jennie. 

Jennie.  Mr.  Bradley,  ma'am. 

Perkins.  Bradley  ?  Wonder  what  the  deuce 
he's  come  for  ?  He'll  guy  the  life  out  of  me. 
{Enter  Bradley.  He  wears  a  dinner  coat.} 
Ah,  Brad,  old  chap,  how  are  you?  Glad  to 
see  you. 

Bradley.  Good-evening,  Mrs.  Perkins.  This 
your  eldest  ?  [  With  a  nod  at  Perkins. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  My  eldest  ? 

Bradley.  Yes — judged  from  his  togs  it  was 
your  boy.  What !  Can  it  be  ?  You  !  Thad- 
deus? 

Perkins.  That's  who  I  am. 

Bradley.  When  did  you  go  into  short  trou- 
sers? 

Perkins  (with  a  feeble  laugh,  glancing  at 
his  clothes).  Oh,  these — ha,  ha!  I'm  taking 
up  the  bicycle.  Even  if  it  weren't  for  the  ex- 
hilaration of  riding,  it's  a  luxury  to  wear  these 
clothes.  Old  flannel  shirt,  old  coat,  old  pair 
of  trousers  shortened  to  the  knee,  and  golf 
stockings.  I've  had  these  golf  stockings  two 
years,  and  never  had  a  chance  to  wear  'em  till 
now. 


'"MY  ELDEST?'" 


The  Bicyclers  7 

Bradley.  You've  got  it  bad,  haven't  you? 
How  many  lessons  have  you  had  ? 

Perkins.  None  yet.  Fact  is,  just  got  my 
wheel— that's  it  over  there  by  the  door — 
pneumatic  tires,  tool-chest,  cyclometer,  lamp 
— all  for  a  hun. 

Bradley  (with  a  laugh).  How  about  life- 
insurance?  Do  they  throw  in  a  policy  for 
that  ?  They  ought  to. 

Perkins.  No — but  they  would  if  I'd  insisted. 
Competition  between  makers  is  so  great, 
they'll  give  you  most  anything  to  induce  a 
bargain.  The  only  thing  they  really  gave  me 
extra  is  the  ki-yi  gun. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  The  what  ? 

Perkins.  Ki-yi  gun— it  shoots  dogs.  Dog 
comes  out,  catches  sight  of  your  leg — 

Bradley.  Mistakes  it  for  a  bone  and  grabs — 
eh? 

Perkins.  Well — I  fancy  that's  about  the  size 
of  it.  You  can't  very  well  get  off,  so  you  get 
out  your  ki-yi  gun  and  shoot  ammonia  into 
the  beast's  face.  It  doesn't  hurt  the  dog,  but 
it  gives  him  something  to  think  of.  I'll  show 
you  how  the  thing  works.  (Gets  the  gun  from 


8  The  Bicyclers 

tool -box.)  This  is  the  deadly  weapon,  and 
I'm  the  rider  —  see?  (Sits  on  a  chair,  with 
face  to  back,  and  works  imaginary  pedals?) 
You're  the  dog.  I'm  passing  the  farm-yard. 
Bow-wow !  out  you  spring — grab  me  by  the 
bone — I — ah — I  mean  the  leg.  Pouf !  I  shoot 
you  with  ammonia.  \_Suits  action  to  the  word. 

Bradley  (starting  back).  Hi,  hold  on  !  Don't 
squirt  that  infernal  stuff  at  me !  My  dear 
boy,  get  a  grip  on  yourself.  I'm  not  really  a 
ki-yi,  and  while  I  don't  like  bicyclists,  their 
bones  are  safe  from  me.  I  won't  bite  you. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Really — I  think  that's  a  very 
ingenious  arrangement;  don't  you,  Mr.  Brad- 
ley? 

Bradley.  I  do,  indeed.  But,  as  long  as 
we're  talking  about  it,  I  must  say  I  think 
what  Thaddeus  really  needs  is  a  motorman- 
gun,  to  squirt  ammonia,  or  even  beer,  into  the 
faces  of  these  cable-car  fellows.  They're  more 
likely  to  interfere  with  him  than  dogs — don't 
you  think? 

Perkins.  It's  a  first-rate  idea,  Brad.  I'll 
suggest  it  to  my  agent. 

Bradley.  Your  what  ? 


The  Bicyclers 


9 


Perkins  (apologetically).  Well,  I  call  him 
my  agent,  although  really  I've  only  bought 
this  one  wheel  from  him.  He  represents  the 
Czar  Manufacturing  Company. 

Bradley.  They  make  Czars,  do  they? 


THE    KI-YI   GUN 


Perkins  (with  dignity).  They  make  wheels. 
The  man  who  owns  the  company  is  named 
Czar.  I  refer  to  him  as  my  agent,  because 
from  the  moment  he  learned  I  thought  of 
buying  a  wheel  he  came  and  lived  with  me. 
I  couldn't  get  rid  of  him,  and  finally  in  self- 


io  The  Bicyclers 

defence  I  bought  this  wheel.     It  was  the  only 
way  I  could  get  rid  of  him. 

Bradley.  Aha!  That's  the  milk  in  the 
cocoanut,  eh  ?  Hadn't  force  of  mind  to  get 
rid  of  the  agent.  Couldn't  say  no.  Humph ! 
I  wondered  why  you,  a  man  of  sense,  a  man  of 
dignity,  a  gentleman,  should  take  up  with 
this— 

Perkins  (angrily).  See  here,  Brad,  I  like 
you  very  much,  but  I  must  say — 
.  Mrs.  Perkins  (foreseeing  a  quarrel}.  Thad- 
deus!  'Sh!  Ah,  by -the -way,  Mr.  Bradley, 
where  is  Emma  this  evening?  I  never  knew 
you  to  be  separated  before. 

Bradley  (sorrowfully}.  This  is  the  first  time, 
Mrs.  Perkins.  Fact  is,  we'd  intended  calling 
on  you  to-night,  and  I  dressed  as  you  see  me. 
Emma  was  in  proper  garb  too,  but  when  she 
saw  what  a  beautiful  night  it  was,  she  told 
me  to  go  ahead,  and  she —  By  Jove !  it  al- 
most makes  me  weep ! 

Perkins.  She  wasn't  taken  ill  ? 

Bradley.  No — worse.  She  said  :  "  You  go 
down  on  the  '  L.'  I'll  bike.  It's  such  a  splen- 
did night."  Fine  piece  of  business  this !  TQ 


The  Bicyclers  1 1 

have  a  bicycle  come  between  man  and  wife  is 
a  pretty  hard  fate,  I  think — for  the  one  who 
doesn't  ride. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Then  Emma  is  coming  here? 

Bradley.  That's  the  idea,  on  her  wheel  — 
coming  down  the  Boulevard,  across  Seventy- 
second  Street,  through  the  Park,  down  Mad- 
ison, across  Twenty- third,  down  Fourth  to 
Twenty-first,  then  here. 

Perkins.  Bully  ride  that. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Alone  ? 

Bradley  (sadly).  I  hope  so — but  these  bicy- 
clists have  a  way  of  flocking  together.  For 
all  I  know,  my  beloved  Emma  may  now  be 
coasting  down  Murray  Hill  escorted  by  some 
bicycle  club  from  Jersey  City. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh  dear — Mr.  Bradley  ! 

Bradley.  Oh,  it's  all  right,  I  assure  you,  Mrs. 
Perkins.  Perfectly  right  and  proper.  It's 
merely  part  of  the  exercise,  don't  you  know. 
There's  a  hail-fellow-well-metness  about  en- 
thusiastic bicyclists,  and  Emma  is  intensely 
enthusiastic.  It  gives  her  a  chance,  you 
know,  and  Emma  has  always  wanted  a  chance. 
Independence  is  a  thing  she's  been  after  ever 


12  The  Bicyclers 

since  she  got  her  freedom,  and  now,  thanks  to 
the  wheel,  she's  got  it  again,  and  even  I  must 
admit  it's  harmless.  Funny  she  doesn't  get 
here  though  (looking  at  his  watch} ;  she's  had 
time  to  come  down  twice. 

{Bicycle  bells  are  heard  ringing  without. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Maybe  that  is  she  now.  Go 
and  see,  will  you,  Thaddeus?  \Exit  Perkins. 

Perkins  (without},  That  you,  Mrs.  Bradley  ? 
[Mrs.  Perkins  and  Bradley  listen  intently. 

Two  Male  Voices.  No;  it's  us,  Perk.  Got 
your  wheel  ? 

Bradley  and  Mrs.  Perkins.  Where  can  she 
be? 

Enter  Perkins  with  Barlow  and  Yardsley. 
They  both  greet  Mrs.  Perkins. 

Yardsley.  Hullo,  Brad  !  You  going  to  have 
a  lesson  too  ? 

Barlow.  Dressed  for  it,  aren't  you,  by  Jove ! 
Nothing  like  a  dinner  coat  for  a  bicycle 
ride.  Your  coat-tails  don't  catch  in  the 
gear. 

Bradley  (severely).  I  haven't  taken  it  up  — 
fact  is,  I  don't  care  for  fads.  Have  you  seen 
my  wife  ? 


ENTER   BARLOW  AND  YARDSLEY 


The  Bicyclers  15 

Yardsley.  Yes — saw  her  the  other  night  at 
the  academy.  Rides  mighty  well,  too,  Brad. 
Don't  wonder  you  don't  take  it  up.  Contrast, 
you  know — eh,  Perk?  Fearful  thing  for  a 
man  to  have  the  world  see  how  much  smarter 
his  wife  is  than  he  is. 

Perkins  (turning  to  his  wheel}.  Bradley 's  a 
little  worried  about  the  non-arrival  of  Mrs. 
Bradley.  She  was  coming  here  on  her  wheel, 
and  started  about  the  same  time  he  did. 

Barlow.  Oh,  that's  all  right,  Ned.  She 
knows  her  wheel  as  well  as  you  know  your 
business.  Can't  come  down  quite  as  fast  as 
the  "  L,"  particularly  these  nights  just  before 
election.  She  may  have  fallen  in  with  some 
political  parade,  and  is  waiting  to  get  across 
the  street. 

Bradley  (aside).  Well,  I  like  that ! 

Mrs.  Perkins  (aside).  Why — it's  awful ! 
Yardsley.  Or  she  may  possibly  have  punc- 
ured  her  tire — that  would  delay  her  fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes.  Don't  worry,  my  dear  boy. 
I  showed  her  how  to  fix  a  punctured  tire  all 
right.  It's  simple  enough — you  take  the  rub- 
ber thing  they  give  you  and  fasten  it  in  that 


1 6  The  Bicyclers 

metal  thingumbob,  glue  it  up,  poke  it  in,  pull 
it  out,  pump  her  up,  and  there  you  are. 

Bradley  (scornfully).  You  told  her  that,  did 
you  ? 

Yardsley.  I  did. 

Bradley  (with  a  mock  sigh  of  relief}.  You 
don't  know  what  a  load  you've  taken  off  my 
mind. 

Barlow  (looking  at  his  watch).  H'm !  Thad- 
deus,  it's  nine  o'clock.  I  move  we  go  out  and 
have  the  lesson.  Eh  ?  The  moon  is  just  right. 

Yardsley.  Yes  —  we  can't  begin  too  soon. 
Wheel  all  right  ? 

Perkins.  Guess  so — I'm  ready. 

Bradley.  I'll  go  out  to  the  corner  and  see  if 
there's  any  sign  of  Mrs.  Bradley.  [Exit. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (who  has  been  gazing  out  of  win- 
dow for  some  moments).  I  do  wish  Emma  would 
come.  I  can't  understand  how  women  can  do 
these  things.  Riding  down  here  all  alone  at 
night !  It  is  perfectly  ridiculous  ! 

Yardsley  (rolling  Perkins's  wheel  into  mid- 
dle of  room).  Czar  wheel,  eh  ? 

Perkins  (meekly).  Yes  —best  going — they  tell 
me. 


The  Bicyclers  17 

Barlow.  Can't  compare  with  the  Alberta. 
Has  a  way  of  going  to  pieces  like  the  "  one- 
hoss  shay  " — eh,  Bob  ? 

Yardsley.  Exactly — when  you  least  expect 
it,  too — though  the  Alberta  isn't  much  better. 
You  get  coasting  on  either  of  'em,  and  half- 
way down,  bang!  the  front  wheel  collapses, 
hind  wheel  flies  up  and  hits  you  in  the  neck, 
handle-bar  turns  just  in  time  to  stab  you  in 
the  chest ;  and  there  you  are,  miles  from  home, 
a  physical,  moral,  bicycle  wreck.  But  the 
Arena  wheel  is  different.  In  fact,  I  may  say 
that  the  only  safe^  wheel  is  the  Arena.  That's 
the  one  I  ride.  However,  at  fifty  dollars  this 
one  isn't  extravagant. 

Perkins.  I  paid  a  hundred. 

Yardsley.  A  wha — a — at  ? 

Perkins.  Hundred. 

Barlow.  Well  you  are  a — a — good  fellow. 
It's  a  pretty  wheel,  anyhow.  Eh,  Bob  ? 

Yardsley.  Simple  beauty.  Is  she  pumped 
up? 

Perkins.  Beg  your  pardon  ? 

Yardsley.  Pumped  up,  tires  full  and  tight 
— ready  for  action — support  an  elephant  ? 


1 8  The  Bicyclers 

Perkins.  Guess  so — my — I  mean,  the  agent 
said  it  was  perfect. 

Yardsley.  Extra  nuts  ? 

Perkins.  What? 

Yardsley.  Extra  nuts  —  nuts  extra.  Sup- 
pose you  lose  a  nut,  and  your  pedal  conies  off  ; 
what  you  going  to  do — get  a  tow  ? 

Barlow.  Guess  Perkins  thinks  this  is  like 
going  to  sleep. 

Perkins.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it. 
What  I'm  after  is  information  ;  only,  I  give 
you  warning,  I  will  not  ride  so  as  to  get  round 
shoulders. 

Yardsley.  Then  where's  your  wrench? 
Screw  up  your  bar,  hoist  your  handles,  ele- 
vate your  saddle,  and  you're  O.K.  What 
saddle  have  you  ? 

Perkins  (tapping  //).  This. 

Barlow.  Humph  !  Not  very  good — but  we'll 
try  it.  Come  on.  It's  getting  late. 

{They  go  out.  Perkins  reluctantly.  In  a 
moment  he  returns  alone,  and,  rushing  to 
Mrs.  Perkins,  kisses  her  affectionately. 

Perkins.  Good-bye,  dearest. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Good-bye.  Don't  hurt  your- 
self, Thaddeus.  {Exit  Perkins. 


The  Bicyclers  19 

Mrs.  Perkins  (leaving  window  and  looking 
at  clock  on  mantel}.  Ten  minutes  past  nine 
and  Emma  not  here  yet.  It  does  seem  too 
bad  that  she  should  worry  Ed  so  much  just 
for  independence'  sake.  I  am  quite  sure  I 
should  never  want  to  ride  a  wheel  anyhow, 
and  even  if  I  did — 

Enter  Yardsley  hurriedly,  with  a  piece  of 
flannel  in  his  hand. 

Yardsley.  I  beg  pardon,  Mrs.  Perkins,  but 
have  you  a  shawl-strap  in  the  house  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (tragically).  What  is  that  you 
have  in  your  hand,  Mr.  Yardsley? 

Yardsley  (with  a  glance  at  the  piece  of  flan- 
nel'). That?  Oh— ha-ha— that — that's  a— ah 
— a  piece  of  flannel. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (snatching  the  flannel  from 
Yardsley 's  hand}.  But  Teddy— isn't  that  a 
piece  of  Teddy's — Teddy's  shirt  ? 

Yardsley.  More  than  that,  Mrs.  Perkins. 
It's  the  greater  part  of  Teddy's  shirt.  That's 
why  we  want  the  shawl-strap.  When  we 
started  him  off,  you  know,  he  took  his  coat 
off.  Jack  held  on  to  the  wheel,  and  I  took 
Teddy  in  the  fulness  of  his  shirt.  One — two 


2O  The  Bicyclers 

— three !  Teddy  put  on  steam — Barlow  let  go 
— Teddy  went  off — I  held  on — this  is  what  re- 
mained. It  ruined  the  shirt,  but  Teddy  is 
safe.  (Aside.)  Barring  about  sixty  or  seventy 

bruises. 

i 

Mrs.  Perkins  (with  a  faint  smile).     And  the 
shawl-strap  ? 

Yardsley.  I  want  to  fasten  it  around  Ted- 
dy's waist,  grab  hold  of  the  handle,  and  so 
hold  him  up.  He's  all  right,  so  don't  you 
worry.  (Exit  Mrs.  Perkins  in  search  of  shawl- 
strap^)  Guess  I  'd  better  not  say  anyth  ing  about 
the  Pond's  Extract  he  told  me  to  bring  — 
doesn't  need  it,  anyhow.  Man's  got  to  get 
used  to  leaving  pieces  of  his  ankle-bone  on 
the  curb-stone  if  he  wants  to  learn  to  ride 
a  wheel.  Only  worry  her  if  I  asked  her  for  it 
— won't  hurt  him  to  suffer  a  week. 
Enter  Bradley. 

Bradley.  Has  she  come  yet  ? 

Yardsley.   No  —  just  gone   up-stairs   for  a 
shawl-strap. 

Bradley.  Shawl-strap?     Who? 

Per  kins  (outside].    Hurry  up  with  that  Pond's 
Extract,  will  you  ? 


:HAVE  YOU   A   SHAWL-STRAP   IN  THE  HOUSE?'" 


The  Bicyclers  23 

Yardsley.  All  right— coming.  Who  ?  Who 
what? 

Bradley.  Who  has  gone  up-stairs  after  shawl- 
strap — my  wife  ? 

Yardsley.  No,  no,  no.  Hasn't  she  got  here 
yet?  It's  Mrs.  Perkins.  Perk  fell  off  just 
now  and  broke  in  two.  We  want  to  fasten 
him  together. 

Barlow  (outside).  Bring  out  that  pump. 
His  wheel's  flabby. 

Enter  Mrs.  Perkins  with  shawl-strap. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Here  it  is.  What  did  I  hear 
about  Pond's  Extract  ?  Didn't  somebody  call 
for  it  ? 

Yardsley.  No  —  oh  no  —  not  a  bit  of  it! 
What  you  heard  was  shawl-strap — sounds  like 
extract — very  much  like  it.  In  fact — 

Bradley.  But  you  did  say  you  wanted — 

Yardsley  (aside  to  Bradley).  Shut  up! 
Thaddeus  banged  his  ankle,  but  he'll  get 
over  it  in  a  minute.  She'd  only  worry.  The 
best  bicyclers  in  the  world  are  all  the  time 
falling  off,  taking  headers,  and  banging  their 
ankles. 

Bradley.  Poor  Emma ! 


24  The  Bicyclers 

Enter  Barlow. 

Barlow.  Where  the  deuce  is  that  Ex — 

Yardsley  {grasping  him  by  the  arm  and 
pushing  him  oiif).  Here  it  is ;  this  is  the  ex- 
strap,  just  what  we  wanted.  (Aside  to  Bradley.) 
Go  down  to  the  drug-store  and  get  a  bottle 
of  Pond's,  will  you  ?  {Exit. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (walking  to  window).  She 
can't  be  long  in  coming  now. 

Bradley.  I  guess  I'll  go  out  to  the  corner 
again.  (Aside?)  Best  bicyclers  always  smash- 
ing ankles,  falling  off,  taking  headers !  If  I 
ever  get  hold  of  Emma  again,  I'll  see  whether 
shell  ride  that —  {Rushes  out. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It  seems  to  have  made  these 
men  crazy.  I  never  saw  such  strange  behav- 
ior in  all  my  life.  (The  telephone-bell  rings?) 
What  can  that  be?  (Goes  to  'phone,  which 
stands  just  outside  parlor  door?)  Hello! 
What  ?  Yes,  this  is  1 181 — yes.  Who  are  you  ? 
What?  Emma?  Oh  dear,  I'm  so  glad  !  Are 
you  alive  ?  Where  are  you  ?  What?  Where? 
The  police-station  !  (Turning  from  telephone?) 
Thaddeus,  Mr.  Barlow,  Mr.  Yardsley.  (Into 
telephone)  Hello  !  What  for  ?  What  ?  Rid- 


'WHERE?   THE  POLICE  STATION!'" 


The  Bicyclers  25 

ing  without  a  lamp !  Arrested  at  Forty-sec- 
ond Street !  Want  to  be  bailed  out  ?  (Drops 
receiver.  Rushes  into  parlor  and  throws  herself 
on  sofa.)  To  think  of  it — Emma  Bradley! 
(Telephone  -  bell  rings  violently  again;  Mrs. 
Perkins  goes  to  //.)  Hello !  Yes.  Tell  Ed 
what?  To  ask  for  Mrs.  Willoughby  Haw- 
kins. Who's  she  ?  What,  you  !  (Drops  the 
receiver;  runs  to  window?)  Thaddeus !  Mr. 
Yardsley !  Mr.  Barlow ! — all  of  you  come  here, 
quick. 

{They  rush  in.  Perkins  with  shawl-strap 
about  his  waist — limping.  Barlow  has 
large  air-pump  in  his  hand.  Mrs.  Per- 
kins grows  faint. 

Perkins.  Great  heavens !    What's  the  mat- 
ter? 
Barlow.  Get  some  water — quick ! 

[Yardsley  runs  for  water. 
Mrs.  Perkins.  Air  !     Give  me  air ! 
Perkins    (grabbing  pump  from    Barlow's 
hand}.    Don't  stand  there  like  an  idiot !    Act ! 
She  wants  air ! 

{Places  pump  on  floor  and  begins  to  pump 
air  at  her. 


26       .  The  Bicyclers 

Barlow.  Who's  the  idiot  now  ?  Wheel  her 
over  to  the  window.  She's  not  a  bicycle. 

{They  do  so.     Mrs.  Perkins  revives. 

Perkins.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Mrs.  Willoughby  Hawkins— 
arrested  —  Forty-second  Street  —  no  lamp  — 
bailed  out.  Oh,  dear  me,  dear  me  !  It  '11  all 
be  in  the  papers  ! 

Perkins.  What's  that  got  to  do  with  us? 
Who's  Mrs.  Willoughby  Hawkins  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Emma !  Assumed  name. 

Barlow.  Good  Lord  !    Mrs.  Bradley  in  jail  ? 

Perkins.  This  is  a  nice  piece  of— ow — my 
ankle,  my  ankle ! 

{Enter  Bradley  and  Yardsley  at  same  time, 
Bradley  with  bottle  of  Pond's  Extract, 
Yardsley  with  glass  of  water. 

Bradley.  Where  the  deuce  did  you  fellows 
go  to?  I've  been  wandering  all  over  the 
square  looking  for  you. 

Perkins.  Your  wife — 

Bradley  (dropping  bottle).  What?  What 
about  her — hurt  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Worse !  {Sobs. 

Bradley.  Killed? 


The  Bicyclers  27 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Worse  —  1-lol-locked  up  —  in 
jail — no  bail — wants  to  be  lamped  out. 

Bradley.  Great  heavens!  Where? — when? 
What  next?  Where's  my  hat? — what'll  the 
baby  say  ?  I  must  go  to  her  at  once. 

Yards  ley.  Hold  on,  old  man.  Let  me  go 
up.  You're  too  excited.  I  know  the  police 
captain.  You  stay  here,  and  I'll  run  up  and 
fix  it  with  him.  If  you  go,  he'll  find  out  who 
Mrs.  Hawkins  is ;  you'll  get  mad,  and  things 
will  be  worse  than  ever. 

Bradley.  But— 

Barlow.  No  buts,  my  dear  boy.  You  just 
stay  where  you  are.  Yardsley's  right.  It 
would  be  an  awful  grind  on  you  if  this  ever 
became  known.  Bob  can  fix  it  up  in  two 
minutes  with  the  captain,  and  Mrs.  Bradley 
can  come  right  back  with  him.  Besides,  he 
can  get  there  in  five  minutes  on  his  wheel. 
It  will  take  you  twenty  on  the  cars. 

Yardsley.  Precisely.  Meanwhile,  Brad,  you'd 
better  learn  to  ride  the  wheel,  so  that  Mrs. 
B.  won't  have  to  ride  alone.  This  ought  to 
be  a  lesson  to  you. 

Perkins.  Bully  idea  (rubbing  his  ankle}.   You 


28  The  Bicyclers 

can  use  my  wheel  to-night — I — I  think  I've 
had  enough  for  the  present.  (Aside.}  The 
pavements  aren't  soft  enough  for  me ;  and, 
O  Lord  !  what  a  stony  curb  that  was  ! 

Bradley.  I  never  thought  I'd  get  so  low. 

Yardsley.  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man 
with  a  wife  in  jail  needn't  be  too  stuck  up  to 
ride  a  bicycle.  But — by-by — I'm  off.  {Exit. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Poor  Emma  —  out  for  free- 
dom, and  lands  in  jail.  What  horrid  things 
policemen  are,  to  arrest  a  woman  ! 

Bradley  (indignantly).  Served  her  right ! 
If  women  won't  obey  the  law  they  ought  to 
be  arrested,  the  same  as  men.  If  she  wasn't 
my  wife,  I'd  like  to  see  her  sent  up  for  ten 
years  or  even  twenty  years.  Women  have 
got  no  business — 

Barlow.  Don't  get  mad,  Brad.  If  you  knew 
the  fascination  of  the  wheel  you  wouldn't 
blame  her  a  bit. 

Bradley  (calming  down).  Well — I  suppose 
it  has  some  fascination. 

Perkins  (anxious  to  escape  further  lessons). 
Oh,  indeed,  it's  a  most  exhilarating  sensation  : 
you  seem  to  be  flying  like  a  bird  over  the  high- 


The  Bicyclers  29 

ways.  Try  it,  Ned.  Go  on,  right  away.  You 
don't  know  how  that  little  ride  I  had  braced 
me  up. 

Barlow  (with  a  laugh).  There  !  Hear  that! 
There's  a  man  who's  ridden  only  eight  inches 
in  all  his  life  — and  he  says  he  felt  like  a 
bird! 

Perkins  (aside}.  Yes — like  a  spring  chicken 
split  open  for  broiling.  Next  time  I  ride  a 
wheel  it  '11  be  four  wheels,  with  a  horse  fast- 
ened in  front.  Oh  my !  oh  my !  I  believe 
I've  broken  my  back  too.  [Lies  down. 

Bradley.  You  seem  to  be  exhilarated, 
Thaddeus. 

Perkins  (bracing  up}.  Oh,  I  am,  I  am.  Nev- 
er felt  worse — that  is,  better. 

Barlow.  Come  on,  Brad.  I'll  show  you  the 
trick  in  two  jiffies — it  '11  relieve  your  worry 
about  madam,  too. 

Bradley.  Very  well — I  suppose  there's  no 
way  out  of  it.  Only  let  me  know  as  soon 
as  Emma  arrives,  will  you  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes — we  will. 

{.They  go  out.    As  they  disappear  through 
the  door  Thaddeus  groans  aloud. 


30  The  Bicyclers 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Why  —  what  is  the  matter, 
dear  ?  Are  you  hurt  ? 

Perkins.  Oh  no — not  at  all,  my  love.  I  was 
only  thinking  of  Mr.  Jarley's  indignation  to- 
morrow when  he  sees  the  hole  I  made  in  his 
curb-stone  with  my  ankle — oh  ! — ow ! — and  as 
for  my  back,  while  I  don't  think  the  whole 
spine  is  gone,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it 
had  come  through  in  sections. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Why,  you  poor  thing — why 
didn't  you  say — 

Perkins  (savagely).  Why  didn't  I  say  ?  My 
heavens,  Bess,  what  did  you  think  I  wanted 
the  Pond's  Extract  for— to  drink,  or  to  water 
the  street  with  ?  O  Lord !  (holding  up  his 
arm).  There  aren't  any  ribs  sticking  out,  are 
there  ? 

Barlow  (outside).  The  other  way  — there  — 
that's  it — you've  got  it. 

Bradley  (outside}.  Why,  it  is  easy,  isn't  it  ? 

Perkins  (scornfully).  Easy!  That  fellow'd 
find  comfort  in — 

Barlow  (outside).  Now  you're  off  —  not  too 
fast. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (walking  to  window).  Why, 


The  Bicyclers  31 

Thaddeus,  he's  going  like  the  wind  down  the 
street ! 

Perkins.  Heaven  help  him  when  he  comes 
to  the  river ! 

Barlow  (rushing  in).  Here  we  are  in  trouble 
again.  Brad's  gone  off  on  my  wheel.  Bob's 
taken  his,  and  your  tire's  punctured.  He 
doesn't  know  the  first  thing  about  turning  or 
stopping,  and  I  can't  run  fast  enough  to  catch 
him.  One  member  of  the  family  is  in  jail — 
the  other  on  a  runaway  wheel ! 

[Yardsley  appears  at  door.    Assumes  atti- 
tude of  butler  announcing  guest. 
Yardsley.  Missus  Willerby  'Awkins  ! 
Enter  Mrs.  Bradley,  hysterical. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  Edward  ! 

[  Throws  herself  into  Barlow's  arms. 

Barlow  {quietly).  Excuse  me  — ah  —  Mrs. 
Hawkins  —  ah  — Bradley  —  but  I'm  not  —  I'm 
not  your  husband. 

Mrs.  Bradley  (looking  up,  tragically). 
Where's  Edward  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Sit  down,  dear — you  must  be 
completely  worn  out. 

Mrs.  Bradley  (in  alarm).  Where  is  he? 


The  Bicyclers 


Perkins  (rising  and  standing  on  one  leg}. 
Fact  is,  Mrs.  Bradley— we  don't  know.  He 
disappeared  ten  minutes  ago. 

Yardsley.  What  do  you 
mean? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Disap- 
peared ? 

Barlow.  Yes.  He  went 
east— at  the  rate  of  about 
a  mile  a  minute. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  My  hus- 
band—went east?  Mile 
a  minute  ? 

Perkins.  Yes,  on  a  bike. 
Yardsley,  take  me  by  the 
shawl-strap,  will  you,  and 
help  me  over  to  that 
chair;  my  back  hurts  so 
I  can't  lie  down. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Ned— on 
a  wheel?  Why,  he  can't 
ride! 

Barlow.  Oh  yes,  he  can. 

What  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  he  can't  stop  riding. 
Bradley  (outside).  Hi— Barlow— help ! 


MISSUS  WILLBRBY 
'AWKINS  ' " 


The  Bicyclers  33 

Mrs.  Bradley.  That's  his  voice  —  he  called 
for  help. 

Yardsley  (rushing  to  window).  Hi — Brad — 
stop  !  Your  wife's  here. 

Bradley  (in  distance).  Can't  stop  —  don't 
know  how — 

Barlow  (leaning  out  of  window).  By  Jove ! 
he's  turned  the  corner  all  right.  If  he  keeps 
on  around,  we  can  catch  him  next  time  he 
passes. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  do,  do  stop  him.  I'm  so 
afraid  he'll  be  hurt. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (looking  out).  I  can  just  see 
him  on  the  other  side  of  the  square — and,  oh 
dear  me  ! — his  lamp  is  out. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  Mr.  Yardsley— Mr.  Bar- 
low— Mr.  Perkins — do  stop  him  ! 

\By  this  time  all  are  gazing  out  of  win- 
dow, except  Perkins,  who  is  nursing  his 
ankle. 

Perkins.  I  guess  not.  I'm  not  going  to  lie 
down  in  the  road,  or  sit  in  the  road,  or  stand 
in  the  road  to  stop  him  or  anybody  else.  I 
don't  believe  I've  got  a  sound  bone  left ;  but 
if  I  have,  I'm  going  to  save  it,  if  Bradley  kills 

3 


34  The  Bicyclers 

himself.     If  his  lamp's  out  the  police  will  stop 
him.    Why  not  be  satisfied  with  that  ? 

Bradley  (passing  the  window).  For  Heaven's 
sake !  one  of  you  fellows  stop  me. 

Yardsley.  Put  on  the  brake. 

Barlow.  Fall  off.     It  hasn't  got  a  brake. 

Bradley  (despairingly,  in  distance}.  Can't. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  This  is  frightful. 

Perkins  (with  a  grimace  at  his  ankle).  Yes ; 
but  there  are  other  fearful  things  in  this 
world. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I  shall  go  crazy  if  he  isn't 
stopped.  He'll  kill  himself. 

Yardsley  (leaving  window  hurriedly}.  I  have 
it.  Got  a  length  of  clothes-line,  Mrs.  Perkins? 

Barlow.  What  the  dickens— 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes. 

[She  rushes  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  What  for  ? 

Yardsley.  I'll  lasso  him,  next  time  he  comes 
around. 

Perkins  (with  a  grin).  There'll  be  two  of 
us !  We  can  start  a  hospital  on  the  top  floor. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (returning).  Here— here's  the 
line. 


'*  *POOR,  DEAR  EDWARD!' 


The  Bicyclers  37 

[Yardsley  takes  it  hurriedly,  and,  tying  it 
into  a  noose,  hastens  out. 

Perkins  (rising).  If  I  never  walk  again,  I 
must  see  this.  [Limps  to  window. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  He's  coming,  Mr.  Yardsley; 
don't  miss  him. 

Barlow.  Steady,  Bob ;  get  in  the  light. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Suppose  it  catches  his  neck  ? 

Perkins.  This  beats  the  Wild  West  Show. 

[A  crash. 

AIL  He's  got  him. 

[All  rush  out,  except  Perkins. 

Perkins.  Oh  yes  ;  he  learned  in  a  minute,  he 
did.     Easy!     Ha,  ha !    Gad  !  it  almost  makes 
me  forget  my  pain. 
Enter  all,  asking :  "  Is  he  hurt  ?     How  do  you 

feel  ?"  etc.     Yardsley  has  rope-end  in  right 

hand ;  noose  is  tied  about  Brad  ley's  body,  his 

coat  and  clothing  are  much  the  worse  for 

wear. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Poor,  dear  Edward  ! 

Bradley  (weakly  kissing  her).  Don't  m-mind 
me.  I — I'm  all  right — only  a  little  exhilarated 
— and  somewhat — er — somewhat  breathless. 
Feel  like  a  bird — on  toast.  Yardsley,  you're 


}S  The  Bicyclers 

a  brick.  But  that  pavement— that  was  a  pile 
of  'em,  and  the  hardest  I  ever  encountered.  I 
always  thought  asphalt  was  soft — who  said 
asphalt  was  soft  ? 

Perkins.  Easy  to  learn,  though,  eh  ? 

Bradley.  Too  easy.  I'd  have  gone  on — er — 
forever — er — if  it  hadn't  been  for  Bob. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I'll  give  it  up,  Ned  dear,  if 
you  say  so. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (affectionately).  That's  sweet 
of  you,  Emma. 

Bradley.  No,  indeed,  you  won't,  for — er — I 
— I  rather  like  it  while  it's  going  on,  and 
when  I  learn  to  get  off — 

Yardsley.  Which  you  will  very  shortly. 

Barlow.  You  bet !  he's  a  dandy.  I  taught 
him. 

Bradley.  I  think  I'll  adore  it. 

Perkins.  Buy  a  Czar  wheel,  Brad.  Best  in 
the  market;  weighs  only  twenty  pounds. 
I've  got  one  with  a  ki-yi  pump  and  a 
pneumatic  gun  you  can  have  for  ten  dol- 
lars. 

Jennie  (at  the  door}.  Supper  is  served 
ma'am.  [Exit. 


The  Bicyclers 


Mrs.  Perkins.  Let  us  go  out  and  restore  our 
nerves.     Come,  Emma. 
\She     and     Mrs. 
Bradley  walk  out. 

Yardsley  (aside).  I 
say,  Brad,  you  owe  me 
five. 

Bradley.  What  for  ? 

Yardsley.  Bail. 

Barlow.  Cheap  too. 

Yardsley.  Very.  I 
think  he  ought  to  open 
a  bottle  besides. 

Perkins.  I'll  attend 
to  the  bottles.  We'll 
have  three. 

Barlow.  Two  will  be 
enough. 

Perkins.  Three — two 
of  fizz  for  you  and  Bob 
and  the  ladies,  and  if 

Bradley  will  agree,  I'll  split  a  quart  of  Pond's 
Extract  with  him. 

Bradley.  I'll  go  you.     I  think  I  could  take 
care  of  the  whole  quart  myself. 


KINDLY  PRETEND  I'M  A 
SHAWL'" 


40  The  Bicyclers 

Perkins.  Then  we'll  make  it  four  bottles. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (appearing  at  door  with  her 
arm  about  Mrs.  Bradley).  Aren't  you  coming  ? 

Perkins  (rising  with  difficulty).  As  fast  as  we 
can,  my  dear.  We've  been  taking  lessons, 
you  know,  and  can't  move  as  rapidly  as  the 
rest  of  you.  We're  a  trifle— ah— a  trifle  tired. 
Yardsley,  you  tow  Bradley  into  the  dining- 
room  ;  and,  Barlow,  kindly  pretend  I'm  a 
shawl,  will  you,  and  carry  me  in. 

Bradley.  I'll  buy  a  wheel  to-morrow. 

Perkins.  Don't,  Brad.  I — I'll  give  you 
mine.  Fact  is,  old  man,  I  don't  exactly  like 
feeling  like  a  bird. 

{They  go  out,  and  as  the  last,  Perkins  and 
Bradley,  disappear  stiffly  through  the 
portieres,  the  curtain  falls. 


A  DRAMATIC   EVENING 

CHARACTERS  : 

MR.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  a  victim. 
MR.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  a  friend  in  disguise. 
MR.  ROBERT  YARDSLEY,  an  amiable  villain. 
MR.  JOHN  BARLOW,  the  amiable  villain's  assistant. 
MRS.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  a  martyr. 
MRS.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  a  woman  of  executive  ability. 
JENNIE,  a  housemaid. 

The  scene  is  placed  in  the  drawing-room  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thaddeus  Perkins,  of  New  York. 
The  time  is  a  Saturday  evening  in  the  early 
spring,  and  the  hour  is  approaching  eight. 
The  curtain,  rising,  discovers  Perkins,  in  eve- 
ning dress,  reading  a  newspaper  by  the  light 
of  a  lamp  on  the  table.  Mrs.  Perkins  is 
seated  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  button- 
ing her  gloves.  Her  wrap  is  on  a  chair 
near  at  hand.  The  room  is  gracefully  over- 
furnished. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Where  are  the  seats,  Thad- 
deus ? 


42  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Perkins.  Third  row;  and,  by  Jove!  Bess 
(looking  at  his  watch},  we  must  hurry.  It  is 
getting  on  towards  eight  now.  The  curtain 
rises  at  8.15. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  The  carriage  hasn't  come  yet. 
It  isn't  more  than  a  ten  minutes'  drive  to  the 
theatre. 

Perkins.  That's  true,  but  there  are  so  many 
carriage-folk  going  to  see  Irving  that  if  we 
don't  start  early  we'll  find  ourselves  on  the 
end  of  the  line,  and  the  first  act  will  be  half 
over  before  we  can  reach  our  seats. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I'm  so  glad  we've  got  good 
seats — down  near  the  front.  I  despise  opera- 
glasses,  and  seats  under  the  galleries  are  so 
oppressive. 

Perkins.  Well,  I  don't  know.  For  The  Lyons 
Mail  I  think  a  seat  in  the  front  row  of  the 
top  gallery,  where  you  can  cheer  virtue  and 
hiss  villany  without  making  yourself  conspic- 
uous, is  the  best. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that 
you'd  like  to  sit  up  with  those  odious  gallery 
gods? 

Perkins.   For  a  melodrama,  I  do.     What's 


A  Dramatic  Evening  43 

the  use  of  clapping  your  gloved  hands  togeth- 
er at  a  melodrama?  That  doesn't  express 
your  feelings.  I  always  want  to  put  two  fin- 
gers in  my  mouth  and  pierce  the  atmosphere 
with  a  regular  gallery-god  whistle  when  I  see 
the  villain  laid  low  by  the  tow-headed  idiot  in 
the  last  act — but  it  wouldn't  do  in  the  orches- 
tra. You  might  as  well  expect  the  people  in 
the  boxes  to  eat  peanuts  as  expect  an  orches- 
tra-chair patron  to  whistle  on  his  fingers. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  should  die  of  mortification 
if  you  ever  should  do  such  a  vulgar  thing, 
Thaddeus. 

Perkins.  Then  you  needn't  be  afraid,  my 
dear.  I'm  too  fond  of  you  to  sacrifice  you  to 
my  love  for  whistling.  (The  front-door  bell 
rings?)  Ah,  there  is  the  carriage  at  last.  I'll 
go  and  get  my  coat. 

[Mrs.  Perkins  rises,  and  is  about  to  don 
her  wrap  as  Mr.  Perkins  goes  towards 
the  door. 

Enter  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bradley.  Perkins  stag- 
gers backward  in  surprise.  Mrs.  Perkins 
lets  her  wrap  fall  to  the  floor,  an  expression 
of  dismay  on  her  face. 


44  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Mrs.  Perkins  (aside).  Dear  me !  I'd  forgot- 
ten all  about  it.  This  is  the  night  the  club  is 
to  meet  here ! 

Bradley.  Ah,  Perkins,  how  d'  y'  do  ?  Glad 
to  see  me  ?  Gad  !  you  don't  look  it. 

Perkins.  Glad  is  a  word  which  scarcely  ex- 
presses my  feelings,  Bradley.  I — I'm  simply 
de-lighted.  (Aside  to  Mrs.  Perkins,  who  has 
been  greeting  Mrs.  Bradley.)  Here's  a  kettle 
of  fish.  We  must  get  rid  of  them,  or  we'll 
miss  The  Lyons  Mail. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  You  two  are  always  so  formal. 
The  idea  of  your  putting  on  your  dress  suit, 
Thaddeus !  It  '11  be  ruined  before  we  are  half 
through  this  evening. 

Bradley.  Certainly,  Perkins.  Why,  man, 
when  you've  been  moving  furniture  and  tak- 
ing up  carpets  and  ripping  out  fireplaces  for 
an  hour  or  two  that  coat  of  yours  will  be  a 
rag— a  veritable  rag  that  the  ragman  himself 
would  be  dubious  about  buying. 

Perkins  (aside).  Are  these  folk  crazy?  Or 
am  I  ?  (Aloud.}  Pulling  up  fireplaces  ? 
Moving  out  furniture?  Am  I  to  be  dispos- 
sessed ? 


A  Dramatic  Evening  47 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Not  by  your  landlord,  but 
you  know  what  amateur  dramatics  are. 

Bradley.  I  doubt  it.  He  wouldn't  have  let 
us  have  'em  here  if  he  had  known. 

Perkins.  Amateur — amateur  dramatics? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Certainly,  Thaddeus.  You 
know  we  offered  our  parlor  for  the  perform- 
ance. The  audience  are  to  sit  out  in  the  hall. 

Perkins.  Oh — ah  !  Why,  of  course  !  Cer- 
tainly !  It  had  slipped  my  mind ;  and— ah — 
what  else  ? 

Bradley.  Why,  we're  here  to-night  to  ar- 
range the  scene.  Don't  tell  us  you  didn't 
know  it.  Bob  Yardsley's  coming,  and  Bar- 
low. Yardsley's  a  great  man  for  amateur 
dramatics;  he  bosses  things  so  pleasantly  that 
you  don't  know  you're  being  ordered  about 
like  a  slave.  I  believe  he  could  persuade  a 
man  to  hammer  nails  into  his  piano-case  if  he 
wanted  it  done,  he's  so  insinuatingly  lovely 
about  it  all. 

Perkins  (absently).  I'll  get  a  hammer.    [Exit. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (aside).  I  must  explain  to 
Thaddeus.  He'll  never  forgive  me.  (Aloud^) 
Thaddeus  is  so  forgetful  that  I  don't  believe 


48  A  Dramatic  Evening 

he  can  find  that  hammer,  so  if  you'll  excuse 
me  I'll  go  help  him.  \_Exit. 

Bradley.  Wonder  what's  up?  They  don't 
quarrel,  do  they  ? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I  don't  believe  any  one  could 
quarrel  with  Bessie  Perkins— not  even  a  man. 

Bradley.  Well,  they're  queer.  Acted  as  if 
they  weren't  glad  to  see  us. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  that's  all  your  imagina- 
tion. (Looks  about  the  room.)  That  table  will 
have  to  be  taken  out,  and  all  these  chairs  and 
cabinets;  and  the  rug  will  never  do. 

Bradley.  Why  not?  I  think  the  rug  will 
look  first-rate. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  A  rug  like  that  in  a  conserva- 
tory ?  [A  ring  at  the  front-door  bell  is  heard. 

Bradley.  Ah !  maybe  that's  Yardsley.  I  hope 
so.  If  Perkins  and  his  wife  are  out  of  sorts 
we  want  to  hurry  up  and  get  through. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  we'll  be  through  by  twelve 
o'clock. 

Enter  Yardsley  and  Barlow. 

Yardsley.  Ah!  here  we  are  at  last.  The 
wreckers  have  arrove.  Where's  Perkins  ? 

Barlow.  Taken  to  the  woods,  I  fancy.     I 


A  Dramatic  Evening  49 

say,  Bob,  don't  you  think  before  we  begin 
we'd  better  give  Perkins  ether  ?  He'll  suffer 
dreadful  agony. 

Enter  Mrs.  Perkins,  wiping  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Barlow  ? 
and  you,  Mr.  Yardsley?  So  glad  to  see  you. 
Thaddeus  will  be  down  in  a  minute.  He — ah 
— he  forgot  about  the — the  meeting  here  to- 
night, and  he — he  put  on  his  dress-coat. 

Yardsley.  Bad  thing  to  lift  a  piano  in.  Bet- 
ter be  without  any  coat.  But  I  say  we  be- 
gin— eh?  If  you  don't  mind,  Mrs.  Perkins. 
We've  got  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  unfortu- 
nately hours  are  limited  in  length  as  well  as 
in  number.  Ah !  that  fireplace  must  be  cov- 
ered up.  Wouldn't  do  to  have  a  fireplace  in 
a  conservatory.  Wilt  all  the  flowers  in  ten 
minutes. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (meekly}.  You  needn't  have  the 
fire  lit,  need  you  ? 

Barlow.  No — but — a  fireplace  without  fire 
in  it  seems  sort  of — of  bald,  don't  you  think? 

Yardsley.  Bald  ?  Splendid  word  applied  to 
a  fireplace.  So  few  fireplaces  have  hair. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  it  could  be  covered  up 


50  A  Dramatic  Evening 

without  any  trouble,  Bessie.  Can't  we  have 
those  dining-room  portieres  to  hang  in  front 
of  it? 

Yardsley.  Just  the  thing.  Dining-room  por- 
tieres always  look  well,  whether  they're  in  a 
conservatory  or  a  street  scene.  (Enter  Per- 
kins.) Hello,  Thaddeus!  How  d'  y'?  Got 
your  overalls  on  ? 

Perkins  (trying  to  appear  serene}.  Yes.  I'm 
ready  for  anything.  Anything  I  can  do? 

Bradley.  Yes — look  pleasant.  You  look  as 
if  you  were  going  to  have  your  picture  taken, 
or  a  tooth  pulled.  Haven't  you  a  smile  you 
don't  need  that  you  can  give  us?  This  isn't 
a  funeral. 

Perkins  (assuming  a  grin).  How'll  that  do  ? 

Barlow.  First-rate.  We'll  have  to  make  you 
act  next.  That's  the  most  villanous  grin  I 
ever  saw. 

Yardsley.  I'll  write  a  tragedy  to  go  with  it. 
But  I  say,  Thad,  we  want  those  dining-room 
portieres  of  yours.  Get  'em  down  for  us,  will 
you? 

Perkins.  Dining-room  portieres !  What  for? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  They  all  think  the  fireplace 


A  Dramatic  Evening  51 

would   better    be    hid,   Thaddeus,  dear.      It 
wouldn't  look  well  in  a  conservatory. 

Perkins.  I  suppose  not.  And  the  dining- 
room  portieres  are  wanted  to  cover  up  the 
fireplace? 

Yardsley.  Precisely.  You  have  a  managerial 
brain,  Thaddeus.  You  can  see  at  once  what 
a  dining-room  portiere  is  good  for.  If  ever  I 
am  cast  away  on  a  desert  island,  with  nothing 
but  a  dining-room  portiere  for  solace,  I  hope 
you'll  be  along  to  take  charge  of  it.  In  your 
hands  its  possibilities  are  absolutely  unlim- 
ited. Get  them  for  us,  old  man ;  and  while 
you  are  about  it,  bring  a  stepladder.  (Exit 
Perkins,  dejectedly^)  Now,  Barlow,  you  and 
Bradley  help  me  with  this  piano.  Pianos  may 
do  well  enough  in  gardens  or  pirates'  caves, 
but  for  conservatories  they're  not  worth  a 
rap. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Wait  a  moment.  We  must 
take  the  bric-a-brac  from  the  top  of  it  before 
you  touch  it.  If  there  are  two  incompatible 
things  in  this  world,  they  are  men  and  bric-a- 
brac. 

Mrs.    Perkins.     You    are    so    thoughtful, 


52  A  Dramatic  Evening 

though  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Yardsley  would 
not  break  anything  willingly. 

Barlow.  Nothing  but  the  ten  command- 
ments. 

Yardsley.  They  aren't  brie  -  a  -  brae ;  and  I 
thank  you,  Mrs.  Perkins,  for  your  expression 
of  confidence.  I  wouldn't  intentionally  go 
into  the  house  of  another  man  and  toss  his 
Sevres  up  in  the  air,  or  throw  his  Royal  Wor- 
cester down-stairs,  except  under  very  great 
provocation.  (Mrs.  Perkins  and  Mrs.  Bradley 
have  by  this  time  removed  the  bric-a-brac  from 
the  piano — an  upright^)  Now,  boys,  are  you 
ready  ? 

Bradley.  Where  is  it  to  be  moved  to  ? 

Yardsley.  Where  would  you  prefer  to  have 
it,  Mrs.  Perkins? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  I  have  no  preference  in 
the  matter.  Put  it  where  you  please. 

Yardsley.  Suppose  you  carry  it  up  into  the 
attic,  Barlow. 

Barlow.  Certainly.  I'll  be  glad  to  if  you'll 
carry  the  soft  pedal.  I'm  always  afraid  when 
I'm  carrying  pianos  up-stairs  of  breaking  the 
soft  pedal  or  dropping  a  few  octaves. 


'I'LL  BE  GLAD   TO   IF  YOU'LL  CARRY   THE  SOFT   PEDAL1 


A  Dramatic  Evening  55 

Yardsley.  I  guess  we'd  better  put  it  over  in 
this  corner,  where  the  audience  won't  see  it. 
If  you  are  so  careless  that  you  can't  move  a 
piano  without  losing  its  tone,  we'd  better  not 
have  it  moved  too  far.  Now,  then. 

[Barlow,  Yardsley,  and  Bradley  endeavor 
to  push  the  piano  over  the  floor,  but  it 
doesnt  move. 

Enter  Perkins  with  two  port  tires  wrapped 
about  him,  and  hugging  a  small  stepladder 
in  his  arms. 

Bradley.  Hurry  up,  Perkins.  Don't  shirk 
so.  Can't  you  see  that  we're  trying  to  get 
this  piano  across  the  floor?  Where  are  you  at? 

Perkins  (meekly).  I'm  trying  to  make  myself 
at  home.  Do  you  expect  me  to  hang  on  to 
these  things  and  move  pianos  at  the  same 
time? 

Barlow.  Let  him  alone,  Bradley.  He's  do- 
ing the  best  he  knows.  I  always  say  give  a 
man  credit  for  doing  what  he  can,  whether  he 
is  intelligent  or  not.  Of  course  we  don't  ex- 
pect you  to  hang  on  to  the  portieres  and  the 
stepladder  while  you  are  pushing  the  piano, 
Thad.  That's  too  much  to  expect  of  any  man 


56  A  Dramatic  Evening 

of  your  size ;  some  men  might  do  it,  but  not 
all.  Drop  the  portieres. 

Perkins.  Where'll  I  put  'em  ? 

Yardsley.  Put  them  on  the  stepladder. 

Perkins  (impatiently).  And  where  shall  I 
put  the  stepladder — on  the  piano? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (coming  to  the  rescue).  I'll  take 
care  of  these  things,  Thaddeus,  dear. 

Bradley.  That's  right;  put  everything  off 
on  your  wife.  What  shirks  some  men  are  ! 

Yardsley.  Now,  then,  Perkins,  lend  us  your 
shoulder,  and — one,  two,  three — push !  Ah ! 
She  starts ;  she  moves ;  she  seems  to  feel  the 
thrill  of  life  along  her  keel.  We  must  have 
gained  an  inch.  Once  more,  now.  My,  but 
this  is  a  heavy  piano  ! 

Bradley.  Must  be  full  of  Wagnerian  music. 
Why  don't  you  get  a  piano  of  lighter  quality, 
Perkins?  This  isn't  any  kind  of  an  instru- 
ment for  amateur  stage-hands  to  manage. 

Perkins.  I'll  know  better  next  time.  But 
is  it  where  you  want  it  now  ? 

Yardsley.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  We  need  one 
more  push.  Get  her  rolling,  and  keep  her 
rolling  until  she  stands  over  there  in  that 


A  Dramatic  Evening  57 

corner;  and  be  careful  to  stop  her  in  time. 
I  should  hate  to  push  a  piano  through  one 
of  my  host's  parlor  walls  just  for  the  want  of 
a  little  care.  ( They  push  until  the  piano  stands 
against  the  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
keyboard  in.)  There !  That's  first-rate.  You 
can  put  a  camp-chair  on  top  of  it  for  the 
prompter  to  sit  on  ;  there's  nothing  like  hav- 
ing the  prompter  up  high,  because  amateur 
actors,  when  they  forget  their  lines,  always 
look  up  in  the  air.  Perkins,  go  sit  out  in  the 
hall  and  imagine  yourself  an  enthusiastic  au- 
dience—will you  ? — and  tell  us  if  you  can  see 
the  piano.  If  you  can  see  it,  we'll  have  to 
put  it  somewhere  else. 

Perkins.  Do  you  mean  it  ? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Of  course  he  doesn't,  Mr. 
Perkins.  It's  impossible  to  see  it  from  the 
hall.  Now,  I  think  the  rug  ought  to  come  up. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Dear  me  !  what  for? 

Yardsley,  Oh,  it  wouldn't  do  at  all  to  have 
that  rug  in  the  conservatory,  Mrs.  Perkins. 
Besides,  I  should  be  afraid  it  would  be  spoiled. 

Perkins.  Spoiled  ?  What  would  spoil  it  ? 
Are  you  going  to  wear  spiked  shoes  ? 


58  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Barlow.  Spiked  shoes?  Thaddeus,  really 
you  ought  to  have  your  mind  examined.  This 
scene  is  supposed  to  be  just  off  the  ballroom, 
and  it  is  here  that  Gwendoline  comes  during 
the  lanciers  and  encounters  Hartley,  the  vil- 
lain. Do  you  suppose  that  even  a  villain  in 
an  amateur  show  would  go  to  a  ball  with 
spiked  shoes  on  ? 

Perkins  (wearily).  But  I  still  fail  to  see  what 
is  to  spoil  the  rug.  Does  the  villain  set  fire 
to  the  conservatory  in  this  play,  or  does  he  as- 
sassinate the  virtuous  hero  here  and  spill  his 
gore  on  the  floor? 

Bradley.  What  a  blood-and-thunder  idea  of 
the  drama  you  have !  Of  course  he  doesn't. 
There  isn't  a  death  in  the  whole  play,  and  it's 
two  hours  long.  One  or  two  people  in  the 
audience  may  die  while  the  play  is  going  on, 
but  people  who  haven't  strong  constitutions 
shouldn't  attend  amateur  shows. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  That's  true,  I  fancy. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Very.  It  would  be  very  rude 
for  one  of  your  invited  guests  to  cast  a  gloom 
over  your  evening  by  dying. 

Yardsley.  It  is  seldom  done  among  people 


A  Dramatic  Evening  59 

who  know  what  is  what.  But  to  explain  the 
point  you  want  explained,  Thaddeus :  the  rug 
might  be  spoiled  by  a  leak  in  the  fountain. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  The  fountain  ? 

Perkins.  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  going 
to  have  a  fountain  playing  here? 

Bradley.  Certainly.  A  conservatory  with- 
out a  fountain  would  be  like  "  Hamlet "  with 
Yorick's  skull  left  out.  There's  to  be  a  fount- 
ain playing  here,  and  a  band  playing  in  the 
next  room— all  in  a  green  light,  too.  It  '11  be 
highly  effective. 

Perkins.  But  iiow — how  are  you  going  to 
make  the  fountain  go?  Is  it  to  spurt  real 
water  ? 

Yardsley.  Of  course.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
fountain  spurt  sawdust  or  lemonade?  It's 
not  a  soda-water  fountain  either,  but  a  straight 
temperance  affair,  such  as  you'll  find  in  the 
homes  of  all  truly  good  people.  Now  don't 
get  excited  and  raise  obstacles.  The  thing 
is  simple  enough  if  you  know  how  to  do  it. 
Got  one  of  those  English  bath-tubs  in  the 
house  ? 

Perkins.  No.     But,  of  course,  if  you  want  a 


60  A  Dramatic  Evening 

bath-tub,  I'll  have  a  regular  porcelain  one 
with  running  water,  hot  and  cold,  put  in — two 
of  'em,  if  you  wish.  Anything  to  oblige. 

Yardsley.  No ;  stationary  bath-tubs  are  use- 
ful, but  not  exactly  adapted  to  a  conserva- 
tory. 

Barlow.  I  brought  my  tub  with  me.  I  knew 
Perkins  hadn't  one,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  bet- 
ter come  provided.  It's  out  in  the  hall.  I'll 
get  it.  \_Exit. 

Mrs.  Bradley  (to  Mrs.  Perkins).  He's  just 
splendid  !  never  forgets  anything. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  should  say  not.  But,  Mr. 
Yardsley,  a  bath-tub,  even  an  English  one, 
will  not  look  very  well,  will  it  ? 

Yardsley.  Oh,  very.  You  see,  we'll  put  it  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  Just  move  that  table 
out  into  the  hall,  Thaddeus.  (Enter  Barlow 
with  tub.}  Ah  !  now  I'll  show  you.  (Perkins 
removes  tabled)  You  see,  we  put  the  tub  here 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  then  we  surround  it 
with  potted  plants.  That  conceals  the  tub, 
and  there's  your  fountain. 

Perkins.  But  the  water — how  do  you  get 
that? 


"  '  YOU  SEE,  WE   PUT  THE  TUB  HERE  ' ' 


A  Dramatic  Evening  63 

Bradley.  We  buy  it  in  bottles,  of  course,  and 
hire  a  boy  to  come  in  and  pour  it  out  every 
two  minutes.  How  dull  you  are,  Perkins! 
I'm  surprised  at  you. 

Perkins.  I'm  not  over-bright,  I  must  con- 
fess, when  it  comes  to  building  fountains  in 
parlors,  with  no  basis  but  an  English  bath-tub 
to  work  on. 

Yardsley.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  thing 
as  a  length  of  hose  with  a  nozzle  on  one  end 
and  a  Croton-water  pipe  at  the  other,  Thad- 
deus  Perkins  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  where  is  the  Croton- 
water  pipe  ? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  In  the  butler's  pantry.  The 
hose  can  be  carried  through  the  dining-room, 
across  the  hall  into  this  room,  and  it  will  be 
dreadfully  effective ;  and  so  safe,  too,  in  case 
the  curtain  catches  fire. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  Emma!  You  don't 
think— 

Perkins.  Cheerful  prospect.  But  I  say, 
Yardsley,  you  have  arranged  for  the  water 
supply;  how  about  its  exit?  How  does  the 
water  get  out  of  the  tub  ? 


64  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Yardsley,  It  doesn't,  unless  you  want  to 
bore  a  hole  in  the  floor,  and  let  it  flow  into 
the  billiard-room  below.  We've  just  got  to 
hustle  that  scene  along,  so  that  the  climax 
will  be  reached  before  the  tub  overflows. 

Barlow.  Perhaps  we'd  better  test  the  thing 
now.  Maybe  my  tub  isn't  large  enough  for 
the  scene.  It  would  be  awkward  if  the  hero- 
ine had  to  seize  a  dipper  and  bail  the  fountain 
out  right  in  the  middle  of  an  impassioned  re- 
buke to  Hartley. 

Perkins.  All  right  — go  ahead.  Test  it. 
Test  anything.  I'll  supply  the  Croton  pipes. 

Yardsley.  None  of  you  fellows  happen  to 
have  a  length  of  hose  with  you,  do  you  ? 

Bradley.  I  left  mine  in  my  other  clothes. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  That's  just  like  you  men.  You 
grow  flippant  over  very  serious  matters.  For 
my  part,  if  I  am  to  play  Gwendoline,  I  shall 
not  bail  out  the  fountain  even  to  save  poor 
dear  Bessie's  floor. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  it  '11  be  all  right.  Only,  if  you 
see  the  fountain  getting  too  full,  speak  faster. 

Barlow.  We  might  announce  a  race  between 
the  heroine  and  the  fountain.  It  would  add 


"  '  IT  WOULD   BE   AWKWARD  '  " 


A  Dramatic  Evening  67 

to  the  interest  of  the  play.  This  is  an  ath- 
letic age. 

Perkins.  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do  to  turn 
the  water  off  in  case  of  danger. 

Barlow.  It  could  be  done,  but  it  wouldn't 
look  well.  The  audience  might  think  the 
fountain  had  had  an  attack  of  stage  fright. 
Where  is  the  entrance  from  the  ballroom  to  be. 

Yardsley.  It  ought  to  be  where  the  fireplace 
is.  That's  one  reason  why  I  think  the  por- 
tieres will  look  well  there. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  I  don't  see  how  that  can 
be.  Nobody  could  come  in  there.  There 
wouldn't  be  room  behind  for  any  one  to.  stand, 
would  there  ? 

Bradley.  I  don't  know.  That  fireplace  is 
large,  and  only  two  people  have  to  come  in 
that  way.  The  rising  curtain  discloses  Gwen- 
doline just  having  come  in.  If  Hartley,  the 
villain,  and  Jack  Pendleton,  the  manly  young 
navy  officer,  who  represents  virtue,  and  dashes 
in  at  the  right  moment  to  save  Gwendoline, 
could  sit  close  and  stand  the  discomfort  of  it, 
they  might  squeeze  in  there  and  await  their 
cues. 


68  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Sit  in  the  fireplace  ? 
Yardsley.  Yes.     Why  not  ? 

Perkins.  Don't  you  interfere,  Bess.  Yards- 
ley  is  managing  this  show,  and  if  he  wants  to 
keep  the  soubrette  waiting  on  the  mantel- 
piece it's  his  lookout,  and  not  ours. 

Yardsley.  By-the-way,  Thaddeus,  Wilkins 
has  backed  out,  and  you  are  to  play  the  villain. 

Perkins.  I  ?     Never ! 

Barlow.  Oh,  but  you  must.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  frown  and  rant  and  look  real  bad. 

Perkins.  But  I  can't  act. 

Bradley.  That  doesn't  make  any  difference. 
We  don't  want  a  villain  that  the  audience  will 
fall  in  love  with.  That  would  be  immoral. 
The  more  you  make  them  despise  you,  the 
better. 

Perkins.  Well — I  positively  decline  to  sit  in 
the  fireplace.  I  tell  you  that  right  now. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Don't  waste  time  talking  about 
petty  details.  Let  the  entrance  be  there.  We 
can  hang  the  curtain  on  a  frame  two  feet  out 
from  the  wall,  so  that  there  will  be  plenty  of 
room  behind  for  Hartley  and  Pendleton  to 
stand.  The  frame  can  be  fastened  to  the 


A  Dramatic  Evening  69 

wood-work  of  the  mantel-piece.  It  may  take 
a  screw  or  two  to  hold  it,  but  they'll  be  high 
up,  so  nobody  will  notice  the  holes  in  the 
wood  after  it  comes  down.  The  point  that 
bothers  me  is  this  wall-paper.  People  don't 
put  wall-papers  on  their  conservatories. 

Perkins  (sarcastically).  I'll  have  the  room 
repapered  in  sheet-glass.  Or  we  might  bor- 
row a  few  hot-bed  covers  and  hang  them  from 
the  picture  moulding,  so  that  the  place  would 
look  like  a  real  greenhouse. 

Yardsley.  Napoleonic  idea.  Barlow,  jot 
down  among  the  properties  ten  hot-bed  cov- 
ers, twenty  picture-hooks,  and  a  coil  of  wire. 
You're  developing,  Perkins. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (ruefully,  aside).  I  wish  Thad- 
deus's  jokes  weren't  always  taken  seriously. 
The  idea  of  my  drawing-room  walls  being 
hung  with  hot-bed  covers  !  Why,  it's  awful. 

Yardsley.  Well,  now  that  that's  settled,  we'll 
have  to  dispose  of  the  pictures.  Thaddeus, 
I  wish  you'd  take  down  the  pictures  on  the 
east  wall,  so  that  we  can  put  our  mind's  eye 
on  just  how  we  shall  treat  the  background. 
The  mere  hanging  of  hot-bed  covers  there 


70  A  Dramatic  Evening. 

will  not  do.  The  audience  could  see  directly 
through  the  glass,  and  the  wall-paper  would 
still  destroy  the  illusion. 

Perkins.  Anything.  Perhaps  if  you  got  a 
jack-plane  and  planed  the  walls  off  it  would 
suffice. 

Bradley.  Don't  be  sarcastic,  my  boy.  Re- 
member we  didn't  let  you  into  this.  You  vol- 
unteered. 

Perkins.  I  know  it,  Bradley.  The  house  is 
yours. 

Barlow.  I  said  you  had  paresis  when  you 
made  the  offer,  Perkins.  If  you  want  to  go 
to  law  about  it,  I  think  you  could  get  an  in- 
junction against  us — or,  rather,  Mrs.  Perkins 
could — on  the  ground  that  you  were  non  com- 
pos at  the  time. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Why,  we're  most  happy  to 
have  you,  I'm  sure. 

Perkins.  So  'm  I.  (Aside.)  Heaven  forgive 
me  that ! 

Yardsley.  By -the -way,  Thad,  there's  one 
thing  I  meant  to  have  spoken  about  as  soon 
as  I  got  here.  Er — is  this  your  house,  or  do 
you  rent  it  ? 


A  Dramatic  Evening  71 

Perkins.  I  rent  it.  What  has  that  to  do 
with  it  ? 

Bradley.  A  great  deal.  You  don't  think 
we'd  treat  your  house  as  we  would  a  com- 
mon landlord's,  do  you  ?  You  wouldn't  your- 
self. 

Yardsley.  That's  the  point.  If  you  own  the 
house  we  want  to  be  careful  and  consider  your 
feelings.  If  you  don't,  we  don't  care  what 
happens. 

Perkins.  I  don't  own  the  house.  (Aside) 
And  under  the  circumstances  I'm  rather  glad 
I  don't. 

Yardsley.  Well,  I'm  glad  you  don't.      My 
weak  point  is  my  conscience,  and  when  it 
comes  to  destroying  a   friend's   property,  I 
don't  exactly  like  to  do  it.     But  if  this  house 
belongs  to  a  sordid  person,  who  built  it  just 
to  put  money  in  his  own  pocket,  I  don't  care. 
Barlow,  you  can  nail  those  portieres  up.     It 
won't  be  necessary  to  build  a  frame  for  them. 
Bradley,  carry  the  chairs  and  cabinets  out. 
[Bradley,  assisted  by  Perkins,  removes  the 
remaining  furniture,  placing  the  bric-a- 
brac  on  the  floor. 


72  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Barlow.  All  right.  Where's  that  steplad- 
der  ?  Thaddeus,  got  any  nails  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I— I  think  we'd  rather  have  a 
frame,  Mr.  Yardsley.  We  can  have  one  made, 
can't  we,  Thaddeus  ? 

Perkins.  Certainly.  We  can  have  anything 
made.  (Aside.)  I  suppose  I'd  build  a  theatre 
for  'em  if  they  asked  me  to,  I'm  such  a  con- 
founded— 

Yardsley.  Oh  no.  Of  course,  if  you'd  pre- 
fer it,  we'll  send  a  frame.  I  don't  think  nails 
would  look  well  in  this  ceiling,  after  all.  Tem- 
porarily, though,  Barlow,  you  might  hang  those 
portieres  from  the  picture-moulding. 

Barlow.  There  isn't  any. 

Yardsley.  Well,  then,  we'll  have  to  imagine 
how  it  will  look. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  All  the  bric-a-brac  will  have 
to  be  taken  from  the  room. 

Yardsley.  True.  Perkins,  you  know  the 
house  better  than  we  do.  Suppose  you  take 
the  bric-a-brac  out  and  put  it  where  it  will  be 
safe. 

Perkins.  Certainly. 

\Begins  to  remove  bric-a-brac. 


A  Dramatic  Evening  73 

Yardsley.  Now  let's  count  up.  Here's  the 
fountain. 

Barlow.  Yes ;  only  we  haven't  the  hose. 

Bradley.  Well,  make  a  note  of  it. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Emma,  can't  we  help  Thad- 
deus  ? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Of  course.  I'll  carry  out  the 
fender,  and  you  take  the  andirons. 

[  They  do  so. 

Yardsley.  The  entrance  will  be  here,  and 
here  will  be  the  curtain.  How  about  foot- 
lights ? 

Bradley.  This  bracket  will  do  for  a  connec- 
tion. Any  plumber  can  take  this  bracket  off 
and  fasten  a  rubber  pipe  to  it. 

Yardsley.  First-rate.  Barlow,  make  a  note 
of  one  plumber,  one  length  of  rubber  pipe,  and 
foot-lights. 

Bradley.  And  don't  forget  to  have  potted 
plants  and  palms,  and  so  forth,  galore. 

Barlow.  No.  I'll  make  a  note  of  that.  Will 
this  sofa  do  for  a  conservatory  ? 

Yardsley.  Jove  !  Glad  you  mentioned  that. 
Won't  do  at  all.  Thaddeus !  (No  answer?)  I 
hope  we  haven't  driven  him  to  drink. 


74  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Bradley.  So  do  I.  I'd  rather  he'd  lead  us 
to  it. 

Yardsley.  Thaddeus ! 

Perkins  (from  without).     Well  ? 

Yardsley.  Do  you  happen  to  have  any  con- 
servatory benches  in  the  house  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (appearing  in  doorway).  We 
have  a  patent  laundry  table. 

Barlow.  Just  the  thing. 

Yardsley  (calling).  Bring  up  the  patent  laun- 
dry table,  Thaddeus.  ( To  Bradley.)  What  is 
a  patent  laundry  table  ? 

Bradley.  It's  what  my  wife  calls  the  cook's 
delight.  It's  an  ironing-board  on  wash-days, 
a  supper  table  at  supper-time,  and  on  the 
cook's  reception  days  it  can  be  turned  into  a 
settee. 

Yardsley.  It  describes  well. 

Perkins  (from  a  distance).  Hi !  come  down 
and  help  me  with  this  thing.  I  can't  carry  it 
up  alone. 

Yardsley.  All  right,  Perk.  Bradley,  you  and 
Barlow  help  Thaddeus.  I'll  move  these  other 
chairs  and  tables  out.  It's  getting  late,  and 
we'll  have  to  hustle. 


A  Dramatic  Evening  75 

[Exit   Barlow.     Bradley  meanwhile  has 

been  removing  pictures  from  the  walls, 

and,  as  Yardsley  speaks,  is  standing  on 

the  stepladder  reaching  up  for  a  painting. 

Bradley.  What  do  you  take  me  for— twins  ? 

Yardsley.  Don't  get  mad,  now,  Bradley.     If 

there's  anything  that  can  add  to  the  terror  of 

amateur  theatricals  it's  temper. 

Mrs.  Bradley  (from  without}.  Edward,  come 
here  right  away.  I  want  you  to  move  the  hat- 
stand,  and  see  how  many  people  can  be  seated 
in  this  hall. 

Bradley.  Oh  yes,  certainly,  my  dear  —  of 
course.  Right  away.  My  name  is  Legion— 
or  Dennis. 

Yardsley.  That's  the  spirit.     (A  crash    is 
heard  without}    Great  Scott !    What's  that  ? 
Mrs.  Perkins  (without).  Oh,  Thaddeus ! 
Bradley.  They've  dropped   the  cook's  de- 
light. 

\He  comes  down  from  the  stepladder.  He 
and  Yardsley  go  out.  The  pictures  are 
piled  up  on  the  floor,  the  furniture  is 
topsy-turvy,  and  the  portieres  lie  in  a 
heap  on  the  hearth. 


76  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Enter  Mrs.  Perkins. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Dear,  dear,  dear!  What  a 
mess !  And  poor  Thaddeus !  I'm  glad  lie 
wasn't  hurt;  but  I— I'm  afraid  I  heard  him 
say  words  I  never  heard  him  say  before  when 
Mr.  Barlow  let  the  table  slip.  Wish  I  hadn't 
said  anything  about  the  table. 

Enter  Mrs.  Bradley. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  These  men  will  drive  me 
crazy.  They  are  making  more  fuss  carrying 
that  laundry  table  up-stairs  than  if  it  were  a 
house ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is  our  husbands 
are  losing  their  tempers. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well,  I  don't  wonder.  It 
must  be  awfully  trying  to  have  a  laundry  table 
fall  on  you. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  Thaddeus  is  angelic,  but 
Edward  is  absolutely  inexcusable.  He  swore 
a  minute  ago,  and  it  sounded  particularly  pro- 
fane because  he  had  a  screw  and  a  picture- 
hook  in  his  mouth. 

Yardsley  (outside).  It's  almost  as  heavy  as 
the  piano.  I  don't  see  why,  either. 

[The  four  men  appear  at  the  door,  stagger- 
ing under  the  weight  of  the  laundry  table. 


A  Dramatic  Evening  77 

Perkins  (as  they  set  it  down).  Whew !  That's 
what  I  call  work.  What  makes  this  thing  so 
heavy  ? 

Mrs.  Bradley  (as  she  opens  a  drawer  and 
takes  out  a  half-dozen  patent  fiat-irons  and  a 
handle).  This  has  something  to  do  with  it. 
Why  didn't  you  take  out  the  drawer  first? 

Yardsley.  It  wasn't  my  fault.  They'd  started 
with  it  before  I  took  hold.  /  didn't  know  it 
had  a  drawer,  though  I  did  wonder  what  it 
was  that  rattled  around  iriside  of  it. 

Bradley.  It  wasn't  for  me  to  suggest  taking 
the  drawer  out.  Thaddeus  ought  to  have 
thought  of  that. 

Perkins  (angrily).  Well,  of  all — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Never  mind.  It's  here,  and 
it's  all  right. 

Yardsley.  That's  so.  We  musn't  quarrel. 
If  we  get  started,  we'll  never  stop.  Now, 
Perkins,  roll  up  that  rug,  and  we'll  get  things 
placed,  and  then  we'll  be  through. 

Barlow.  Come  on  ;  I'll  help.  Bradley,  get 
those  pictures  off  the  rug.  Don't  be  so  care- 
less of  Mrs.  Perkins's  property. 

Bradley.  Careless  ?    See  here  now,  Barlow — 


78  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Now,  Edward  —  no  temper. 
Take  the  pictures  out. 

Bradley.  And  where  shall  I  take  the  pic- 
tures out  to  ? 

Yardsley.  Put  'em  on  the  dining-room  ta- 
ble. 

Perkins  (aside).  Throw  'em  out  the  win- 
dow, for  all  I  care. 

Bradley.  Eh? 

Perkins.  Nothing.  I — er — I  only  said  to  put 
'em — er — to  put  'em  wherever  you  pleased. 

Bradley.  But  /  can't  say  where  they're  to 
go,  Thaddeus.  This  isn't  my  house. 

Perkins  (aside).  No — worse  luck — it's  mine. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh — put  them  in  the  dining- 
room  ;  they'll  be  safe  there. 

Bradley.  I  will. 

[He  begins  carrying  the  pictures  out.  Per- 
kins, Barlow,  and  Yardsley  roll  up  the 
rug. 

Yardsley.  There !  You  fellows  might  as 
well  carry  that  out  too;  and  then  we'll  be 
ready  for  the  scene. 

Barlow.  Come  along,  Thaddeus.  You're 
earning  your  pay  to-night. 


THIS  HAS  SOMETHING  TO   DO  WITH   IT 


A  Dramatic  Evening  79 

Perkins  (desperately).  May  I  take  my  coat 
off?  I'm  boiling. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Certainly.  I  wonder  you 
didn't  think  of  it  before. 

Perkins.  Think  ?     I  never  think. 

Yardsley.  Well,  go  ahead  in  your  thought- 
less way  and  get  the  rug  out.  You  are  de- 
laying us. 

Perkins.  All  right.  Come  on.  Barlow,  are 
you  ready? 

Barlow.  I  am.  {They  drag  the  rug  out. 

Yardsley.  At  last.  (Replaces  the  tub)  There's 
the  fountain.  Now  where  shall  we  put  the 
cook's  delight  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Over  here,  I  should  say. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I  think  it  would  be  better 
here. 

Bradley  (who  has  returned}.  Put  it  half-way 
between  'em,  Yardsley.  I  say  give  in  always 
to  the  ladies;  and  when  they  don't  agree, 
compromise.  It's  a  mighty  poor  woman  that 
isn't  half  right  occasionally. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Edward ! 

Yardsley  (adopting  the  suggestion}.  There! 
How's  that  ? 


8o  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Perkins  {returning).  Perfect.  I  never  saw 
such  an  original  conservatory  in  my  life. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  suppose  it's  all  right.  What 
do  you  think,  Emma? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Why,  it's  simply  fine.  Of 
course  it  requires  a  little  imagination  to  see 
it  as  it  will  be  on  the  night  of  the  perform- 
ance ;  but  in  general  I  don't  see  how  it  could 
be  better. 

Barlow.  No— nor  I.  It's  great  as  it  is,  but 
when  we  get  the  hot-bed  covers  hung,  and 
the  fountain  playing,  and  plants  arranged 
gracefully  all  around,  it  will  be  ideal.  I 
say  we  ought  to  give  Yardsley  a  vote  of 
thanks. 

Perkins.  That's  so.  We're  very  much  in- 
debted to  Yardsley. 

Yardsley.  Never  mind  that.  I  enjoy  the 
work  very  much. 

Perkins.  So  glad.  (Aside.)  I  wonder  when 
we  get  a  vote  of  thanks  ? 

Bradley  (looking  at  his  watcK).  By  Jove, 
Emma,  it's  after  eleven  ! 

Mrs.  Bradley.  After  eleven  ?  Dear  me !  I 
had  no  idea  it  was  as  late  as  that.  How  time 


A  Dramatic  Evening  81 

flies  when  you  are  enjoying  yourself !  Really, 
Edward,  you  ought  not  to  have  overlooked 
the  time.  You  know — 

Bradley.  I  supposed  you  knew  we  couldn't 
pull  a  house  down  in  five  minutes. 

Perkins.  What's  become  of  the  clock  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  don't  know.  Who  took 
the  clock  out  ? 

Barlow.  I  did.  It's  under  the  dining-room 
table. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Well,  we  mustn't  keep  Bessie 
up  another  moment.  Good-night,  my  dear. 
We  have  had  a  delightful  time. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Good-night.  I  am  sure  we 
have  enjoyed  it. 

Perkins  (aside).  Oh  yes,  indeed  ;  we  haven't 
had  so  much  fun  since  the  children  had  the 
mumps. 

Yardsley.  Well,  so-long,  Perkins.  Thanks 
for  your  help. 

Perkins.  By-by. 

Barlow.  Good- night. 

Yardsley.  Don't  bother  about  fixing  up 
to-night,  Perkins.  I'll  be  around  to-mor- 


82  A  Dramatic  Evening 

row  evening  and   help  put  things  in  order 
again. 

{They  all  go  out.     The  good -nights  are 
repeated,  and  finally  the  front  door  is 
closed. 
Re-enter  Perkins,  'who  falls  dejectedly  on  the 

settee,  followed  by  Mrs.  Perkins,  who  gives  a 

rueful  glance  at  the  room. 

Perkins.  I'm  glad  Yardsley's  coming  to  fix 
us  up  again.  I  never  could  do  it. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Then  I  must.  I  can't  ask 
Jennie  to  do  it,  she'd  discharge  us  at  once, 
and  I  can't  have  my  drawing-room  left  this 
way  over  Sunday. 

Perkins  (wearily).  Oh,  well,  shall  we  do  it 
now? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  No,  you  poor  dear  man  ;  we'll 
stay  home  from  church  to-morrow  morning 
and  do  it.  It  won't  be  any  harder  work  than 
reading  the  Sunday  newspapers.  What  have 
you  there  ? 

Perkins  (looking  at  two  tickets  he  has  abstract- 
ed from  his  vest-pockef).  Tickets  for  Irving— 
this  evening— Lyons  Mail—  third  row  from 
the  stage.  I  was  just  thinking— 


A  Dramatic  Evening  83 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Don't  tell  me  what  you  were 
thinking,  my  dear.  It  can't  be  expressible  in 
polite  language. 

Perkins.  You  are  wrong  there,  my  dear.  I 
wasn't  thinking  cuss-words  at  all.  I  was  only 

f 


1 '  HE'S  BEEN  THERE  THREE  HOURS  NOW  ' 


reflecting  that  we  didn't  miss  much  anyhow, 
under  the  circumstances. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Miss  much?  Why,  Thad- 
deus,  what  do  you  mean  ? 

Perkins.  Nothing  —  only  that  for  action 
continuous  and  situations  overpowering  The 


84  A  Dramatic  Evening 

Lyons  Mail  isn't  a  marker  to  an  evening  of 
preparation  for  Amateur  Dramatics. 

Enter  Jennie. 

Jennie.  Excuse  me,  mim,  but  the  coachman 
says  shall  he  wait  any  longer?  He's  been 
there  three  hours  now. 

[CURTAIN] 


THE   FATAL  MESSAGE 


CHARACTERS  : 

MR.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  in  charge  of  the  curtain. 
MRS.  THADDEUS  PERKINS,  cast  for  Lady  Ellen. 
Miss  ANDREWS,  cast  for  the  maid. 
MR.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  an  under-stiidy. 
MRS.  EDWARD  BRADLEY,  cast  for  Lady  Amaranth. 
MR.  ROBERT  YARDSLEY,  stage-manager. 
MR.  JACK  BARLOW,  cast  for  Fender  son  Featherhead. 
MR.  CHESTER  HENDERSON,  an  absentee. 
JENNIE,  a  professional  waitress. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  the  library  of  the  Perkins 
mansion,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  upon 
which  an  amateur  dramatic  performance  is 
to  be  held  therein.  The  Perkins  house  has 
been  given  over  to  the  dramatic  association 
having  the  matter  in  charge.  At  right  of 
library  a  scenic  doorway  is  hung.  At  left  a 
drop-curtain  is  arranged,  behind  which  is  the 
middle  hall  of  the  Perkins  dwelling,  where  the 
expected  audience  are  to  sit.  The  unoccupied 
wall  spaces  are  hung  with  paper-muslin. 


86  The  Fatal  Message 

The  apartment  is  fitted  up  generally  to  resem- 
ble an  English  drawing-room;  table  and  chair 
at  centre.  At  rear  stands  a  painted-canvas 
conservatory  entrance,  on  left  of  which  is  a 
long  oaken  chest.  The  curtain  rising  dis- 
covers Mrs.  Perkins  giving  a  few  finishing 
touches  to  the  scene,  with  Mr.  Perkins  gazing 
curiously  about  the  room. 

Perkins.  Well,  they've  transformed  this 
library  into  a  scene  of  bewitching  beauty — 
haven't  they?  These  paper-muslin  walls  are 
a  dream  of  loveliness.  I  suppose,  as  the  pos- 
sessor of  all  this,  I  ought  to  be  supremely 
happy— only  I  wish  that  canvas  conservatory 
door  hadn't  been  tacked  over  my  reference- 
books.  I  want  to  look  up  some  points 
about — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  never  mind  your  books, 
Thaddeus ;  it's  only  for  one  night.  Can't  you 
take  a  minute's  rest  ? 

Perkins.  One  night  ?  I  like  that.  It's  been 
there  two  already,  and  it's  in  for  to-night,  and 
all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose.  It'll  take  all 
day  to-morrow  to  clean  up,  I'll  wager  a  hat. 


The  Fatal  Message  87 

I'm  beginning  to  rue  the  hour  I  ever  allowed 
the  house  of  Perkins  to  be  lured  into  the 
drama. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  You're  better  off  than  I  am. 
I've  got  to  take  part,  and  I  don't  half  know 
my  lines. 

Perkins.  I  ?  I  better  off?  I'd  like  to  know 
if  I  haven't  got  to  sit  out  in  front  and  watch 
you  people  fulfil  your  diabolical  mission  in 
your  doubly  diabolical  way,  and  grin  at  the 
fearful  jokes  in  the  dialogue  I've  been  listen- 
ing to  for  weeks,  and  make  the  audience  feel 
that  they  are  welcome  when  they're  not. 
What's  been  done  with  my  desk  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It's  down  in  the  laundry. 
You're  about  as — 

Perkins.  Oh,  is  it  ?  Laundry  is  a  nice  place 
for  a  desk.  Plenty  of  starch  handy  to  stiffen 
up  a  writer's  nerve,  and  scrubbing-boards 
galore  to  polish  up  his  wits.  And  I  suppose 
my  papers  are  up  in  the  attic  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  No;  they're  stowed  away 
safely  in  the  nursery.  Now  please  don't  com- 
plain ! 

Perkins.  Me  ?  Complain  ?  I  never  complain. 


88  The  Fatal  Message 

I  didn't  say  a  word  when  Yardsley  had  my 
Cruikshanks  torn  from  their  shelves  and 
chucked  into  a  clothes-basket  and  carried  into 
the  butler's  pantry,  did  I?  Did  I  say  as 
much  as  one  little  word  ?  I  wanted  to  say  one 
little  word,  I  admit,  but  I  didn't.  Did  I  ?  If 
I  did,  I  withdraw  it.  I'm  fond  of  this  sort  of 
thing.  The  greatest  joy  in  life  is  to  be  found  in 
arranging  and  rearranging  a  library,  and  I  seem 
to  be  in  for  joy  enough  to  kill.  What  time  are 
the — these  amateur  Thespians  coming  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (looking  at  her  watch).  They're 
due  now;  it's  half-past  four.  (Sits  down  and 
opens  play-book.  Rehearses.")  No,  not  for  all 
the  world  would  I  do  this  thing,  Lord  Mud- 
dleton.  There  is  no  need  to  ask  it  of  me.  I 
am  firm.  I  shall — 

Perkins.  Oh,  let  up,  my  dear !  I've  been 
getting  that  for  breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea  for 
two  weeks  now,  and  I'm  awfully  tired  of  it. 
When  I  asked  for  a  second  cup  of  coffee  at 
breakfast  Sunday,  you  retorted,  "  No,  not  for 
all  the  world  would  I  do  this  thing,  Lord 
Muddleton !"  When  I  asked  you  where  my 
dress  ties  were,  you  informed  me  that  it  was 


The  Fatal  Message  89 

i 
"what  baseness,"  or  words  to  that  effect ;  and 

so  on,  until  I  hardly  know  where  I  am  at. 
(Catches  sight  of  the  chest '.)  Hello !  How  did 
that  happen  to  escape  the  general  devasta- 
tion? What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
oak  chest  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It  is  for  the  real  earl  to  hide 
in  just  before  he  confronts  Muddleton  with 
the  evidence  of  his  crime. 

Perkins.  But  —  that  holds  all  my  loose 
prints,  Bess.  By  Jove !  I  can't  have  that,  you 
know.  You  amateur  counterfeiters  have  got 
to  understand  just  one  thing.  I'll  submit  to 
the  laundering  of  my  manuscripts,  the  butler's- 
pantrying  of  my  Cruikshanks,  but  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I'll  allow  even  a  real  earl,  much  less 
a  base  imitation  of  one,  to  wallow  in  my  en- 
gravings. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  You  needn't  worry  about 
your  old  engravings.  They're  perfectly  safe. 
I've  put  them  in  the  Saratoga  trunk  in  the 
attic.  (Rehearsing^)  And  if  you  ask  it  of  me 
once  again,  I  shall  have  to  summon  my  ser- 
vants to  have  you  shown  the  door.  Henry 
Cobb  is  the  friend  of  my  girlhood,  and — 


90  The  Fatal  Message 

Perkins.  Henry  Cobb  be — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Thaddeus ! 

Perkins.  I  don't  care,  Bess,  if  Henry  Cobb 
was  the  only  friend  you  ever  had.  I  object 
to  having  my  prints  dumped  into  a  Saratoga 
trunk  in  order  that  he  may  confront  Muddle- 
ton  and  regain  the  lost  estates  of  Puddingford 
by  hiding  in  my  chest.  A  gay  earl  Yardsley 
makes,  anyhow;  and  as  for  Barlow,  he  looks 
like  an  ass  in  that  yellow-chrysanthemum  wig. 
No  man  with  yellow  hair  like  that  could  track 
such  a  villain  as  Henderson  makes  Muddle- 
ton  out  to  be.  Fact  is,  Henderson  is  the  only 
decent  part  of  the  show. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (rehearsing).  What  if  he  is 
weak  ?  Then  shall  I  still  more  strongly  show 
myself  his  friend.  Poor  ?  Does  not — 

Perkins.  Oh,  I  suppose  it  does —  (Bell rings.) 
There  comes  this  apology  for  a  real  earl,  I 
fancy.  I'll  let  him  in  myself.  I  suppose  Jennie 
has  got  as  much  as  she  can  do  sweeping  my 
manuscripts  out  of  the  laundry,  and  keeping 
my  verses  from  scorching  the  wash.  {Exit. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It's  too  bad  of  Thaddeus  to 
go  on  like  this.  As  if  I  hadn't  enough  to 


The  Fatal  Message  91 

worry  me  without  a  cross  husband  to  manage. 

Heigho ! 

Enter  Perkins  with  Yardsley.    Yardsley  holds 

bicycle  cap  in  hand. 

Yardsley.  By  Jove!  I'm  tired.  Everything's 
been  going  wrong  to-day.  Overslept  myself, 
to  begin  with,  and  somebody  stole  my  hat  at 
the  club,  and  left  me  this  bicycle  cap  in  its 
place.  How  are  you  getting  along,  Mrs.  Per- 
kins? You  weren't  letter  perfect  yesterday, 
you  know. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I'm  getting  it  all  right,  I 
think.  I've  been  rehearsing  all  day. 

Perkins.  You  bet  your  life  on  that,  Henry 
Cobb,  real  Earl  of  Puddingford.  If  you  aren't 
restored  to  your  estates  and  title  this  night,  it 
won't  be  for  any  lack  of  suffering  on  my  part. 
Give  me  your  biking  cap,  unless  you  want  to 
use  it  in  the  play.  I'll  hang  it  up.  {Exit. 

Yardsley.  Thanks.    (Looks  about  the  room.) 
Everything  here  seems  to  be  right. 
Perkins  returns. 

Mrs.  Perkins,  (rehearsing).  And  henceforth, 
my  lord,  let  us  understand  one  another. 

Perkins.  Certainly,   my  dear.     I'll  go  and 


92  The  Fatal  Message 

have  myself  translated.  Would  you  prefer 
me  in  French,  German,  or  English  ? 

Yardsley.  I  hope  it  goes  all  right  to-night. 
But,  I  must  say,  I  don't  like  the  prospect. 
This  beastly  behavior  of  Henderson's  has 
knocked  me  out. 

Perkins.  What's  the  matter  with  Hender- 
son ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  He  hasn't  withdrawn,  has 
he? 

Yardsley.  That's  just  what  he  has  done. 
He  sent  me  word  this  morning. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  what  excuse  does  he 
offer  ?  At  the  last  moment,  too  ! 

Yardsley.  None  at  all— absolutely.  There 
was  some  airy  persiflage  in  his  note  about 
having  to  go  to  Boston  at  six  o'clock.  Grand- 
mother's sick  or  something.  He  writes  so 
badly  I  couldn't  make  out  whether  she  was 
rich  or  sick.  I  fancy  it's  a  little  of  both. 
Possibly  if  she  wasn't  rich  he  wouldn't  care 
so  much  when  she  fell  ill.  That's  the  trouble 
with  these  New-Englanders,  anyhow — they've 
always  got  grandmothers  to  fall  down  at  cru- 
cial moments.  Next  time  I  go  into  this  sort 


The  Fatal  Message  93 

of  thing  it'll  be  with  a  crowd  without  known 
ancestors. 

Perkins.  Tisn't  Chet's  fault,  though.  You 
don't  suspect  him  of  having  poisoned  his 
grandmother  just  to  get  out  of  playing,  do 
you? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  Thaddeus,  do  be  seri- 
ous! 

Perkins.  I  was  never  more  so,  my  dear.  Poi- 
soning one's  grandmother  is  no  light  crime. 

Yardsley,  Well,  I've  a  notion  that  the  whole 
thing  is  faked  up.  Henderson  has  an  idea 
that  he's  a  little  tin  Booth,  and  just  because  I 
called  him  down  the  other  night  at  our  first 
rehearsal  he's  mad.  That's  the  milk  in  the 
cocoanut,  I  think.  He's  one  of  those  fellows 
you  can't  tell  anything  to,  and  when  I  kicked 
because  he  wore  a  white  tie  with  a  dinner 
coat,  he  got  mad  and  said  he  was  going  to 
dress  the  part  his  own  way  or  not  at  all. 

Perkins.  I  think  he  was  right. 

Yardsley.  Oh  yes,  of  course  I'm  never  right. 
What  am  I  stage-manager  for  ? 

Perkins.  Oh,  as  for  that,  of  course,  you  are 
the  one  in  authority,  but  you  were  wrong 


94  The  Fatal  Message 

about  the  white  tie  and  the  dinner  coat.  He 
was  a  bogus  earl,  an  adventurer,  wasn't  he  ? 

Yardsley.  Yes,  he  was,  but — 

Perkins.  Well,  no  real  earl  would  wear  a 
white  tie  with  a  dinner  coat  unless  he  were 
visiting  in  America.  I  grant  you  that  if  he 
were  going  to  a  reception  in  New  York  he 
might  wear  a  pair  of  golf  trousers  with  a  din- 
ner coat,  but  in  this  instance  his  dress  simply 
showed  his  bogusity,  as  it  were.  He  merely 
dressed  the  part. 

Yardsley.  He  doesn't  want  to  make  it  too 
plain,  however,  so  I  was  right  after  all.  His 
villany  is  to  come  as  a  painful  surprise. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  what  are  we  to  do  ? 
Have  you  got  anybody  else  to  take  his  part  ? 

Yardsley.  Yes.  I  telegraphed  right  off  to 
Bradley,  explained  as  far  as  I  could  in  a  tele- 
gram without  using  all  the  balance  in  the 
treasury,  and  he  answered  all  right.  Said  he'd 
bone  at  the  part  all  day,  and  would  be  here  at 
five  letter  perfect. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (with  a  sigh  of  relief ).  Good. 
He's  very  quick  at  learning  a  thing.  I  imag- 
ine it  will  be  all  right.  I've  known  him  to 


The  Fatal  Message  95 

learn  a  harder  part  than  that  in  five  hours. 
It  '11  be  pleasanter  for  Emma,  too.  She  didn't 
like  those  scenes  she  had  as  Lady  Amaranth 
the  adventuress  with  Henderson.  He  kept 
her  off  the  middle  of  the  stage  all  the  time ; 
but  with  her  husband  it  will  be  different. 

Perkins.  I'll  bet  on  that !  No  good-natured 
husband  of  a  new  women  ever  gets  within  a 
mile  of  the  centre  of  the  stage  while  she's  on 
it.  She'll  have  stage  room  to  burn  in  her 
scenes  with  Brad. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  think  it  was  awfully  mean 
of  Mr.  Henderson,  though. 

Yardsley.  Disgusting. 

Perkins.  It  was  inconsiderate.  So  hard  on 
his  grandmother,  too,  to  be  compelled  to 
knock  under  just  to  get  him  out  of  a  disagree- 
ble  situation.  She  ought  to  disinherit  him. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  it's  easy  enough  to  be  sar- 
castic. 

Perkins.  That's  so,  Bob ;  that's  why  I  never 

am.     It's    commonplace.     (Bell   rings.)    Ah, 

there's  the  rest  of  the  troupe,  I  guess.     {Exit. 

Yardsley  (looking  at  his  watch).  It's  about 

time.    They're  twenty  minutes  late. 


96  The  Fatal  Message 

Mrs.  Perkins,  (reheasing).  So  once  for  all, 
Lord  Muddleton — (derisively) — ha,  ha  !  Lord 
Muddleton!  that  is  amusing.  You  —  Lord 
Muddleton!  Ha,  ha!  Once  for  all,  Lord 
Muddleton,  I  acquaint, you  with  my  determi- 
nation. I  shall  not  tell  Henry  Cobb  what 
I  have  discovered,  since  I  have  promised, 
but  none  the  less  he  shall  know.  Walls 
have  ears — even  that  oaken  chest  by  yinder 
wonder — 

Yardsley  (irritated}.  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, but  really  you  must  get  that  phrase 
right.  You've  called  it  yinder  wonder  at 
every  rehearsal  we've  had  so  far.  I  know  it's 
difficult  to  get  right.  Yonder  window  is  one 
of  those  beastly  combinations  that  playwrights 
employ  to  make  the  Thespian's  pathway  to 
fame  a  rocky  one ;  but  you  must  get  over  it, 
and  say  it  right.  Practise  it  for  an  hour,  if 
need  be — yonder  window,  yonder  winder — I 
mean,  yonder  window — until  it  comes  easy. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (meekly).  I  have,  and  it  doesn't 
seem  to  do  any  good.  I've  tried  and  tried  to 
get  it  right,  but  yonder  window  is  all  I  can 
say. 


The  Fatal  Message  97 

Yardsley.  But  yinder  window  is — I  should 
say,  yonder  window  is  correct. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well,  I'm  just  going  to  change 
it,  that's  all.  It  shall  be  yonder  casement. 

Yardsley.  Good  idea.  Only  don't  say  yon- 
der basement  by  mistake. 

Enter  Perkins,  followed  by  Barlow. 

Perkins.  Here's  Mr.  Featherhead.  He's  re- 
hearsing too.  As  I  opened  the  door  he  said, 
"  Give  me  good-morrow." 

Barlow  (smiling}.  Yes ;  and  Thaddeus  re- 
plied, "  Good-yesterday,  me  friend,"  in  tones 
which  reminded  me  of  Irving  with  bronchitis. 
What's  this  I  hear  about  Henderson's  grand- 
mother ? 

Yardsley.  Thrown  up  the  part. 

Barlow.  His  grandmother? 

Yardsley.  No  —  idiot  —  Henderson.  He's 
thrown  up  his  grandmother — oh,  hang  it! — 
you  know  what  I  mean. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  hope  you're  not  going  to 
net  gervous,  Mr.  Yardsley.  If  you  break 
down,  what  on  earth  will  become  of  the  rest 
of  us? 

Yardsley.  I  hope  not — but  I  am.     I'm  as 

7 


98  k  The  Fatal  Message 

nervous  as  a  cat  living  its  ninth  life.  Here 
we  are  three  or  four  hours  before  the  per- 
formance, and  no  one  knows  whether  we'll  be 
able  to  go  through  it  or  not.  My  reputation 
as  a  manager  is  at  stake.  Barlow,  how  are 
you  getting  along  on  those  lines  in  the  rev- 
elation scene? 

Barlow.  Had  'em  down  fine  on  the  cable- 
car  as  I  came  up.  Ha-ha !  People  thought  I 
was  crazy,  I  guess.  I  was  so  full  of  it  I  kept 
repeating  it  softly  to  myself  all  the  way  up; 
but  when  we  got  to  that  Fourteenth  Street 
curve  the  car  gave  a  fearful  lurch  and  fairly 
shook  the  words  "villanous  viper"  out  of 
me ;  and  as  I  was  standing  when  we  began 
the  turn,  and  was  left  confronting  a  testy  old 
gentleman  upon  whose  feet  I  had  trodden 
twice,  at  the  finish,  I  nearly  got  into  trouble. 

Perkins  {with  a  laugh ).  Made  a  scene,  eh  ? 

Barlow  (joining  in  the  laugh}.  Who 
wouldn't?  Each  time  I  stepped  on  his  foot 
he  glared — regular  Macbeth  stare — like  this : 
"  Is  this  a  jagger  which  I  see  before  me  ?" 
(Suits  action  to  word.)  But  I  never  let  on  I 
saw,  but  continued  to  rehearse.  When  the 


The  Fatal  Message  99 

lurch  came,  however,  and  I  toppled  over  on 
top  of  him,  grabbed  his  shoulders  in  my  hands 
to  keep  from  sprawling  in  his  lap,  and  hissed 
"  villanous  viper  "  in  his  face,  he  was  inclined 
to  resent  it  forcibly. 

Yardsley.  I  don't  blame  him.  Seems  to  me 
a  man  of  your  intelligence  ought  to  know  bet- 
ter than  to  rehearse  on  a  cable-car,  anyhow,  to 
say  nothing  of  stepping  on  a  man's  corns. 

Barlow.  Of  course  I  apologized  ;  but  he  was 
a  persistent  old  codger,  and  demanded  an  ex- 
planation of  my  epithet. 

Perkins.  It's  a  wonder  he  didn't  have  you 
put  off.  A  man  doesn't  like  to  be  insulted 
even  if  he  does  ride  on  the  cable. 

Barlow.  Oh,  I  appeased  him.  I  told  him  I 
was  rehearsing.  That  I  was  an  amateur  ac- 
tor. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  And  of  course  he  was  satisfied. 

Barlow.  Yes ;  at  least  I  judge  so.  He  said 
that  my  confession  was  humiliation  enough, 
without  his  announcing  to  the  public  what  he 
thought  I  was ;  and  he  added,  to  the  man 
next  him,  that  he  thought  the  public  was  ex- 
posed to  enough  danger  on  the  cable  cars 


loo  The  Fatal  Message 

without  having  lunatics  thrust  upon  them  at 
every  turning. 

Perkins.  He  must  have  been  a  bright  old 
man. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Or  a  very  crabbed  old  person. 

Barlow.  Oh,  well,  it  was  an  experience,  but 
it  rather  upset  me,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I 
haven't  been  able  to  remember  the  opening 
lines  of  the  scene  since. 

Perkins.  Well,  if  the  audience  drive  you  off 
the  stage,  you  can  sue  the  cable  company. 
They  ought  to  be  careful  how  they  lurch  a 
man's  brains  out. 

Yardsley.  That's  right  —  joke  ahead.  It's 
fun  for  you.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  sit 
out  in  front  and  pull  the  curtain  up  and  down 
when  we  ring  a  bell.  You're  a  great  one  to 
talk  about  brains,  you  are.  It's  a  wonder  to 
me  you  don't  swoon  under  your  responsibility. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (rehearsing).  So  once  for  all, 
as  he  says,  so  say  I — 

Perkins.  Ah !  Indeed !  You  take  his  part, 
do  you  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins  (rehearsing).  You  must  leave 
this  house  at  once  and  forever.  I  once  thought 


The  Fatal  Message  101 

I  loved  you,  but  now  all  is  changed,  and  I  take 
this  opportunity  to  thank  my  deliverer,  Fen- 
derson  Featherhead — 

Perkins.  Oh  —  ah  —  rehearsing.  I  see.  I 
thought  you'd  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  my 
dear.  Featherhead,  step  up  and  accept  the 
lady's  thanks.  Cobb,  join  me  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  we'll  drown  our  differences  in  tast- 
ing the  punch,  which,  between  you  and  me,  is 
likely  to  be  the  best  part  of  to-night's  func- 
tion, for  I  made  it  myself— though,  if  Tom 
Harkaway  is  in  the  audience,  and  Bess  follows 
out  her  plan  of  having  the  flowing  bowl  within 
reach  all  the  evening,  I'm  afraid  it'll  need  an 
under-study  along  about  nine  o'clock.  He's  a 
dry  fellow,  that  Harkaway. 

\_Exit  Perkins,  dragging  Yardsley  by  the 
arm. 

Barlow  (calling  after  them).  Don't  you  touch 
it,  Bob.  It's  potent  stuff.  One  glass  may  post- 
pone the  performance. 

Yardsley  (from  behind  the  scenes).  Never 
fear  for  me,  my  boy.  I've  got  a  head,  I  have. 

Barlow.  Well,  don't  get  another.  (Turning 
to  Mrs.  Perkins.)  Suppose  we  rehearse  that 


102  The  Fatal  Message 

scene  where  I  acquaint  you  with  Cobb's  real 
position  in  life  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Very  well.  I'm  ready.  I'm 
to  sit  here,  am  I  not?  [Seats  herself  by  table. 

Barlow.  And  I  come  in  here.  (Begins?)  Ah, 
Lady  Ellen,  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone,  for  I 
have  that  to  say — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Won't  you  be  seated,  Mr. 
Featherhead?  It  was  such  a  delightful  sur- 
prise to  see  you  at  the  Duchess  of  Barncastle's 
last  evening.  I  had  supposed  you  still  in  Ire- 
land. 

Barlow  (aside).  Good.  She  little  thinks  that 
I  have  just  returned  from  Australia,  where  I 
have  at  last  discovered  the  identity  of  the  real 
Earl  of  Puddingford,  as  well  as  that  of  this 
bogus  Muddleton,  who,  by  his  nefarious  crime, 
has  deprived  Henry  Cobb  of  his  patrimony, 
of  his  title,  aye,  even  of  his  name.  She  little 
wots  that  this — this  adventurer  who  has  so 
strongly  interested  her  by  his  nepotic — 

Mrs.  Perkins  (interrupting).  Hypnotic,  Mr. 
Barlow. 

Barlow.  What  did  I  say  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Nepotic. 


The  Fatal  Message  103 

Barlow.  How  stupid  of  me !  I'll  begin  again. 

Mrs.  Perkins  {desperately).  Oh,  pray  don't. 
Go  on  from  where  you  left  off.  That's  a  fear- 
fully long  aside,  anyhow,  and  I  go  nearly  crazy 
every  time  you  say  it.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do  with  myself.  It's  easy  enough  for  Mr. 
Yardsley  to  say  occupy  yourself  somehow,  but 
what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  ?  I  can't  look  in- 
quiringly at  you  all  that  time,  waiting  for  you 
to  say  "  Ireland !  Oh,  yes — yes — just  over  from 
Dublin."  I  can't  lean  against  the  mantel-piece 
and  gaze  into  the  fire,  because  the  mantel- 
piece is  only  canvas,  and  would  fall  down  if  I 
did. 

Barlow.  It's  a  long  aside,  Mrs.  Perkins,  but 
it's  awfully  important,  and  I  don't  see  how  we 
can  cut  it  down.  It's  really  the  turning-point 
of  the  play,  in  which  I  reveal  the  true  state  of 
affairs  to  the  audience. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (with  a  sigfi).  I  suppose  that's 
true.  I'll  have  to  stand  it.  But  can't  I  be 
doing  some  sewing  ? 

Barlow.  Certainly  not.  You  are  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  peer.  They  never  sew.  You  might 
be  playing  a  piano,  but  there's  hardly  room  on 


IO4  The  Fatal  Message 

the  stage  for  that,  and,  besides,  it  would  inter- 
fere with  my  aside,  which  needs  a  hush  to  be 
made  impressive.  Where  did  I  leave  off  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Hypnotic  power. 

Barlow.  Oh  yes.  (Resumes  rehearsing^)  She 
little  wots  that  this — this  adventurer  who  has 
so  strangely  interested  her  with  his  hypnotic 
power  is  the  man  who  twenty  years  ago  forged 
her  father's  name  to  the  title-deeds  of  Burn- 
ington,  drove  him  to  his  ruin,  and  subsequent- 
ly, through  a  likeness  so  like  as  to  bewilder 
and  confuse  even  a  mother's  eyes,  has  forced 
the  rightful  Earl  of  Puddingford  out  into  a 
cruel  world,  to  live  and  starve  as  Henry  Cobb. 

[Bell. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Ah,  I  fancy  the  Bradleys  are 
here  at  last.    I  do  hope  Edward  knows  his  part. 
Enter  Yardsley. 

"Yardsley.  They've  come,  and  we  can  begin 
at  last. 

Enter   Perkins,  Miss   Andrews,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bradley. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Take  off  your  things,  Emma. 
Let  me  take  your  cloak,  Dorothy.  Does  Ed- 
ward feel  equal — 


The  Fatal  Message  105 

Mrs.  Bradley.  He  says  so.  Knows  it  word 
for  word,  he  says,  though  I've  been  so  busy 
with  my  own —  {They go  out  talking. 

Yardsley.  Well,  Brad,  how  goes  it  ?  Know 
your  part  ? 

Bradley.  Like  a  book.     Bully  part,  too. 

Barlow.  Glad  you  like  it. 

Bradley.  Can't  help  liking  it ;  it's  immense  ! 
Particularly  where  I  acquaint  the  heroine 
with  the  villany  that — 

Barlow.  You?     Why— 

Enter  Mrs.  Bradley,  Miss  Andrews,  and  Mrs. 
Perkins. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (to  Bradley).  So  glad  you're 
going  to  play  with  us. 

Bradley.  So  am  I.  It's  a  great  pleasure. 
Felt  rather  out  in  the  cold  until — 

Barlow.  But,  I  say,  Brad,  you  don't — 

Yardsley.  Howdy  do,  Mrs.  Bradley  ?  Good- 
afternoon,  Miss  Andrews.  We  all  seem  to  be 
here  now,  so  let's  begin.  We're  a  half-hour 
late  already. 

Barlow.  I'm  ready,  but  I  want  to — 

Yardsley.  Never  mind  what  you  want,  Jack. 
We  haven't  time  for  any  more  talking.  It  '11 


io6  The  Fatal  Message 

take  us  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  we've  got  to 
hustle.  All  off  stage  now  except  Mrs.  Per- 
kins. (All  go  out ;  Yardsley  rings  bell.)  Hi, 
Perkins,  that's  your  cue  ! 

Perkins.  What  for  ? 

Yardsley.  Oh,  hang  it ! — raise  the  curtain, 
will  you  ? 

Perkins.  With  pleasure.  As  I  understand 
this  thing,  one  bell  signifies  raise  curtain  when 
curtain's  down ;  drop  curtain  when  curtain  is 
up. 

Yardsley.  Exactly.  You  know  your  part, 
anyhow.  If  you  remember  not  to  monkey 
with  the  curtain  except  when  the  bell  rings, 
and  then  change  its  condition,  no  matter 
what  it  may  be,  you  can't  go  wrong.  Now 
begin.  (Bell.  Perkins  raises  curtain.)  Now, 
of  course,  I'm  not  supposed  to  be  on  the 
stage,  but  I'll  stay  here  and  prompt  you.  En- 
ter Lady  Ellen.  Come  along,  Mrs.  Perkins. 
Please  begin. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  thought  we'd  decided  that 
I  was  to  be  sitting  here  when  the  curtain  went 
up? 

Yardsley.  So  we  did.      I'd  forgotten  that. 


The  Fatal  Message  107 

We'll  begin  all  over  again.    Perkins,  drop  that 
curtain.     Perkins ! 

Perkins.  What? 

Yardsley.  Drop  the  curtain. 

Perkins.  Where's  the  bell?  I  didn't  hear 
any  bell  ring. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  never  mind  the  bell !  Let 
her  down. 

Perkins.  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  positively 
refuse.  I  believe  in  doing  things  right.  I'm 
not  going  to  monkey.  Ring  that  bell,  and 
down  she  comes  ;  otherwise — 

Yardsley.  Tut !  You  are  very  tiresome  this 
afternoon,  Thaddeus.  Mrs.  Perkins,  we'll  go 
ahead  without  dropping  the  curtain.  Now 
take  your  place. 

[Mrs.  Perkins  seats  herself  by  table,  picks 
up  a  book,  and  begins  to  read. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (after  an  interval,  throwing 
book  down  with  a  sigh}.  Heigho !  I  cannot 
seem  to  concentrate  my  mind  upon  any- 
thing to-night.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that 
once  a  woman  gives  her  heart  into  another's 
keeping —  [Bell  rings.  Perkins  lets  curtain 
drop. 


io8  The  Fatal  Message 

Yardsley.  What  the  deuce  did  you  drop 
that  curtain  for,  Thaddeus  ? 

Perkins.  The  bell  rang,  didn't  it  ? 

Yardsley.  Yes,  you  idiot,  but  that's  supposed 
to  be  the  front-door  bell.  Lady  Amaranth  is 
about  to  arrive — 

Perkins.  Well,  how  was  I  to  know  ?  Your 
instructions  to  me  were  positive.  Don't  mon- 
key with  curtain  till  bell  rings.  When  bell 
rings,  if  down,  pull  her  up;  if  up,  pull  her 
down.  I'm  not  a  connoisseur  on  bells — 

Yardsley.  You  might  pay  some  attention  to 
the  play. 

Perkins.  Now  look  here,  Bob.  I  don't  want 
to  quarrel  with  you,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
I've  got  enough  to  do  without  paying  atten- 
tion to  your  part  of  the  show.  What  am  I  ? 
First  place,  host ;  second  place,  head  usher ; 
third  place,  curtain  -  manager ;  fourth  place, 
fire  department ;  fifth  place,  Bess  says  if  chil- 
dren holler,  go  up  and  see  what's  the  matter 
— other  words,  nurse — and  on  top  of  this 
you  say  keep  an  eye  on  the  play.  You  must 
think  I've  as  many  eyes  as  a  President's  mes- 
sage. 


The  Fatal  Message  109 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh  dear,  Teddy !  do  behave. 
It's  simple  enough— 

Perkins.  Simple  enough?  Well,  I  like 
that.  How  am  I  to  tell  one  bell  from  an- 
other if — 

Yardsley  (dryly).  I  suppose  if  the  clock 
strikes  ten  you'll  seesaw  the  curtain  up  and 
down  ten  times,  once  for  each  stroke — eh  ? 

Bradley  (poking  his  head  in  at  the  door). 
What's  the  matter  in  here?  Emma's  been 
waiting  for  her  cue  like  a  hundred-yards  run- 
ner before  the  pistol. 

Perkins.  Oh,  it's  the  usual  trouble  with 
Yardsley.  He  wants  me  to  chaperon  the  uni- 
verse. 

Yardsley.  It's  the  usual  row  with  you.  You 
never  want  to  do  anything  straight.  You 
seem  to  think  that  curtain's  an  elevator,  and 
you're  the  boy — yanking  it  up  and  down  at 
your  pleasure,  and — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Oh,  please  don't  quarrel! 
Can't  you  see,  Ted,  it's  growing  late  ?  We'll 
never  have  the  play  rehearsed,  and  it's  barely 
three  hours  now  before  the  audience  will  ar- 
rive. 


no  The  Fatal  Message 

Perkins.  Very  well  —  I'll  give  in  —  only  I 
think  you  ought  to  have  different  bells — 

Yardsley.  I'll  have  a  trolley-car  gong  for 
you,  if  it  '11  only  make  you  do  the  work  prop- 
erly. Have  you  got  a  bicycle  bell  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Yes ;  that  will  do  nicely  for 
the  curtain,  and  the  desk  push-button  bell 
will  do  for  the  front-door  bell.  Have  you 
got  that  in  your  mind,  Teddy  dear? 

Perkins.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  the  whole  bicycle 
in  my  mind.  I  can  feel  the  wheels.  Bike  for 
curtain,  push  for  front  door.  That's  all  right. 
I  wouldn't  mind  pushing  for  the  front  door  my- 
self. All  ready?  All  right.  In  the  absence 
of  the  bicycle  bell,  I'll  be  its  under-study  for 
once.  B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r !  {Raises  curtain. 

Yardsley.  Now,  Mrs.  Perkins,  begin  with 
"  I  wonder  why — " 

Mrs.  Perkins  (rehearsing}.  I  wonder  why  it 
is  that  once  a  woman  gives  her  heart  into 
another's  keeping —  (Bell.}  Ah,  the  bell.  It 
must  be  he  at  last.  He  is  late  this  evening. 
Enter  Miss  Andrews  as  maid,  with  card  on 
tray. 

Miss  Andrews.  Lady  Amaranth,  me  luddy. 


The  Fatal  Message  1 1 1 

Yardsley.  Lydy,  Miss  Andrews,  lydy — not 
luddy. 

Miss  Andrews.  Lydy  Amaranth,  me  lady. 
Yardsley.   And   please  be  consistent  with 
your  dialect.     If  it's  Lydy  Amaranth,  it's  Lydy 
Ellen. 

Miss  Andrews.  Lydy  Amaranth,  me  lydy. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  What?  Lydy  Amaranth? 
She? 

Yardsley.  Oh  dear !  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Per- 
kins, but  you  are  not  the  maid,  and  cockney 
isn't  required  of  you.  You  must  not  say  lydy. 
Lady  is — 

Mrs.  Perkins  (resignedly}.  What?  Lady  Am- 
aranth ?  She  ?  What  can  she  want  ?  Show 
her  up.  {Exit  Miss  Andrews. 

Perkins.  That's  a  first-class  expression  for 
an  adventuress.  Show  her  up!  Gad!  She 
ought  to  be  shown  up. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  What  can  she  want  ? 
Enter  Mrs.  Bradley. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Ah,  my  dear  Lady  Ellen ! 
What  delight  to  find  you  at  home !  (Aside.) 
He  is  not  here,  and  yet  I  could  have  sworn — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  To  what  am  I  to  attribute 


H2  The  Fatal  Message 

this  pleasure,  Lady  Amaranth  ?  I  do  not  pre- 
sume to  think  that  you  have  come  here  with- 
out some  other  motive  than  that  of  a  mere 
desire  to  see  me.  I  do  not  suppose  that  even 
you  pretend  that  since  the  contretemps  of 
Tuesday  night  at  the  Duchess  of  Barncastle's 
our  former  feeling — 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Ellen,  I  have  come  to  tell  you 
something.  To  save  you  from  a  vile  con- 
spiracy. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  am  quite  well  able,  Lady 
Amaranth,  to  manage  my  own  affairs — 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But  you  do  not  know.  You 
love  Lord  Muddleton — 

Mrs.  Perkins  (toying  with  her  fan).  Oh ! 
Indeed  !  And  who,  pray,  has  taken  you  into 
my  confidence  ?  I  was  not  aware — 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Hear  me,  Ellen — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Excuse  me,  Lady  Amaranth  ! 
but  you  have  forgotten  that  it  is  only  to  my 
friends  that  I  am  known  as— 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Then  Lady  Ellen,  if  it  must 
be  so.  I  know  what  you  do  not— that  Henry 
Cobb  is  an  escaped  convent — 

Yardsley.  Convict,  not  convent. 


The  Fatal  Message  1 13 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Is  an  escaped  convict,  and — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I  am  not  interested  in  Henry 
Cobb. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But  he  is  in  you,  Ellen  Aber- 
crombie.  He  is  in  you,  and  with  the  aid  of 
Fenderson  Featherhead— 

[Bell.  Perkins  lets  curtain  drop  half -way, 
but  remembers  in  time,  and  pulls  it  up 
again. 

Perkins.  Beg  pardon.     String  slipped. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Too  late.  Oh,  if  he  had  only 
waited ! 

Enter  Miss  Andrews. 

Miss  Andrews.  Mr.  Featherhead,  Leddy  Ei- 
len. 

Yardsley.  Ellen,  Ellen  ;  and  lydy,  not  leddy. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Hear  me  first,  I  beg. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Show  him  in,  Mary.  Lady 
Amaranth,  as  you  see,  I  am  engaged.  I  really 
must  be  excused.  Good-night. 

Mrs.  Bradley  (aside}.  Foiled  !  Muddleton 
will  be  exposed.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  have 
broken  the  force  of  the  blow !  (Aloud.) 
Lady  Ellen,  I  will  speak.  Fenderson  Feather- 
head — 


114  The  Fatal  Message 

Enter  Bradley  and  Barlow  together. 

Both.  Is  here,  Lady  Amaranth. 
\Each  tries  to  motion  the  other  off  the  stage. 

Yardsley.  What  the  deuce  does  this  mean  ? 
What  do  you  think  this  play  is — an  Uncle  Tom 
combination  with  two  Topsys  ? 

Barlow.  I  told  him  to  keep  out,  but  he  said 
that  Fenderson  Featherhead  was  his  cue. 

Bradley  (indignantly).  Well,  so  it  is  ;  there's 
the  book. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  nonsense,  Brad  !  Don't  be 
idiotic.  The  book  doesn't  say  anything  of 
the  sort. 

Bradley.  But  I  say  it  does.     If  you — 

Barlow.  It's  all  rot  for  you  to  behave  like 
this,  Bradley. 

Perkins.  Isn't  it  time  something  happened 
to  the  curtain  ?  The  audience  will  get  pan- 
icky if  they  witness  any  such  lack  of  harmony 
as  this.  I  will  draw  a  veil  over  the  painful 
scene.  B-r-r-r-r.  (Drops  curtain^)  B-r-r-r-r. 

[Raises  it  again. 

Yardsley.  We  won't  dispute  the  matter, 
Bradley.  You  are  wrong,  and  that's  all  there 
is  about  it.  Now  do  get  off  the  stage  and  let 


The  Fatal  Message  1 1 5 

us  go  ahead.  Perkins,  for  Heaven's  sake,  give 
that  curtain  a  rest,  will  you  ? 

Perkins.  I  was  only  having  a  dress- rehearsal 
on  my  own  account,  Bob.  Bike  bell,  curtain. 
Push  bell,  front  door.  Trolley  gong,  noth- 
ing— 

Bradley.  Well,  if  you  fellows  won't — 

Yardsley  (taking  him  by  the  arm  and  walk- 
ing him  to  side  of  stage).  Never  mind,  Brad ; 
you've  made  a  mistake,  that's  all.  We  all 
make  mistakes  at  times.  Get  off,  like  a 
good  fellow.  You  don't  come  on  for  ten 
minutes  yet.  (Exit  Bradley,  scratching  his 
head  in  puzzled  meditation}  Go  ahead  now, 
Barlow. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But,  Mr.  Yardsley,  Edward 
has — 

Yardsley.  We'll  begin  with  your  cue,  Mrs. 
Bradley.  Fenderson  Featherhead — 

Barlow.  Is  here,  Lady  Amaranth. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But—" 

Yardsley.  No,  no  !  Your  word  isn't  "  but," 
Mrs.  Bradley.  It's  (consulting  book} — it's  :  "  In- 
solent !  You  will  cross  my  path  once  too 
often,  and  then — 


n  6  The  Fatal  Message 

Enter  Bradley. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I  know  that,  but  I  don't  say 
that  to  him ! 

Bradley.  Of  course  not.  She  says  it  to 
me. 

Barlow.  Well,  of  all  the  stupidity — 

Perkins.  Another  unseemly  fracas.  Another 
veil.  B-r-r-r-r.  (Drops  curtain?)  There  may 
be  a  hitch  in  the  play,  but  there  won't  be  in 
this  curtain.  I  tell  you  that  right  now.  B-r-r-r-r. 

[Raises  curtain. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  un- 
derstand the  difficulty.  She  certainly  does 
say  that  to  Featherhead. 

Barlow.  Of  course ! — it's  right  there  in  the 
book. 

Bradley.  That's  exactly  what  I  say.  It's  in 
the  book  ;  but  you  would  come  on. 

Barlow.  Well,  why  shouldn't  I  ? 
Enter  Miss  Andrews. 

Miss  Andrews.  What  seems  to  be  the  trou- 
ble? 

Perkins.  I  give  it  up.  Collision  somewhere 
up  the  road. 

Yardsley  (turning  over   the   leaves   of  the 


The  Fatal  Message  117 

play-book}.  Oh,  I  see  the  trouble — it's  all  right. 
Bradley  is  mixed  up  a  little,  that's  all.  "  Fen- 
derson  Featherhead  "  is  his  cue — but  it  comes 
later,  Brad. 

Bradley.  Later?  Well  (glances  in  booK)—T\Q 
— it  comes  now. 

Barlow.  Are  you  blind  ?  Can  you  read  ? 
See  there !  \Points  into  book. 

Yardsley.  No — you  keep  still,  Jack.  I'll  fix 
it.  See  here,  Bradley.  This  is  the  place  you 
are  thinking  of.  When  Cobb  says  to  Lady 
Ellen  "  Fenderson  Featherhead,"  you  enter 
the  room,  and  in  a  nervous  aside  you  mutter : 
"  What,  he  !  Does  he  again  dare  to  cross  my 
path  ?"  That's  the  way  of  it. 

Barlow.  Certainly  —  that's  it,  Brad.  Now 
get  off,  and  let  me  go  on,  will  you  ? 

Mrs.  Perkins.  I'm  sure  it's  a  perfectly  nat- 
ural error,  Mr.  Bradley. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But  he's  right,  my  dear  Bess. 
The  others  are  wrong.  Edward  doesn't — 

Bradley.  I  don't  care  anything  about  it,  but 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  else  to  do.  If  I 
am  to  play  Fenderson— 

Barlow  (in  amazement).  You  ? 


n8  The  Fatal  Message 

Yardsley  (aghast).  Fenderson  ?  By  all  that 
is  lovely,  what  part  have  you  learned  ? 

Bradley.  The  one  you  told  me  to  learn  in 
your  message — Featherhead,  of  course. 

Barlow.  But  that's  my  part ! 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Of  course  it  is,  Mr.  Bradley. 
Mr.  Barlow  is  to  be — 

Mrs.  Bradley.  But  that's  what  Edward  was 
told.  I  saw  the  message  myself. 

Yardsley  (sinking  into  a  chair  dejectedly). 
Why,  Ed  Bradley  !  I  never  mentioned  Feath- 
erhead. You  were  to  be  Muddleton  ! 

Bradley.  Me? 

Mrs.  Bradley.  What? 

Yardsley.  Certainly.  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  Barlow,  and  he's  cast  for  Feath- 
erhead. You've  learned  the  wrong  part ! 

Bradley  (searching  his  pockets}.  Here's  the 
telegram.  There  (takes  message  from  pockef), 
read  that.  There  are  my  instructions. 

Yardsley  (grasps  telegram  and  reads  it. 
Drops  it  to  floor}.  Well,  I'll  be  jiggered  ! 

[Buries  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Mrs.  Perkins  (picking  up  message  and  read- 
ing aloud}.  "  Can  you  take  Fenderson's  part 


The  Fatal  Message  119 

in  to-night's  show  ?    Answer  at  once.    Yards- 
ley." 

Barlow.  Well,  that's  a  nice  mess.  You 
must  have  paresis,  Bob. 

Perkins.  I  was  afraid  he'd  get  it  sooner  or 
later.  You  need  exercise,  Yardsley.  Go  pull 
that  curtain  up  and  down  a  half-dozen  times 
and  it  '11  do  you  good. 

Bradley.  That  telegram  lets  me  out. 

Mrs.  Bradley.  I  should  say  so. 

Perkins.  Lets  us  all  out,  seems  to  me. 
Yardsley.  But  —  I  wrote  Henderson,  not 
Fenderson.  That  jackass  of  a  telegraph  oper- 
ator is  responsible  for  it  all.  "  Will  you  take 
Henderson's  part  ?"  is  what  I  wrote,  and 
he's  gone  and  got  it  Fenderson.  Confound 
his— 

Mrs.  Perkins.  But  what  are  we  going  to 
do  ?  It's  quarter-past  six  now,  and  the  cur- 
tain is  to  rise  at  8.30. 

Perkins.  I'll  give  'em  my  unequalled  imita- 
tion of  Sandow  lifting  the  curtain  with  one 
hand.    Thus.    {Raises  curtain  with  right  hand. 
Yardsley.  For  goodness'  sake,  man,  be  se- 
rious.    There  are  seventy-five  people  coming 


i2o  The  Fatal  Message 

here  to  see  this  performance,  and  they've  paid 
for  their  tickets. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  It's  perfectly  awful.  We  can't 
do  it  at  all  unless  Mr.  Bradley  will  go  right 
up  stairs  now  and  learn — 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Oh,  that's  impossible.  He's 
learned  nearly  three  hundred  lines  to-day  al- 
ready. Mr.  Barlow  might — 

Barlow.  I  couldn't  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Bradley. 
I've  got  as  much  as  I  can  do  remembering 
what  lines  I  have  learned. 

Perkins.  It  would  take  you  a  week  to  for- 
get your  old  part  completely  enough  to  do  the 
other  well.  You'd  be  playing  both  parts,  the 
way  Irving  does  when  he's  irritated,  before 
you  knew  it. 

Yardsley.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to 
do. 

Perkins.  Give  it  up,  eh?  What  are  you 
stage-manager  for  ?  If  I  didn't  own  the  house, 
I'd  suggest  setting  it'  on  fire  ;  but  I  do,  and 
it  isn't  fully  insured. 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Perhaps  Miss  Andrews  and 
Mr.  Yardsley  could  do  their  little  scene  from 
Romeo  and  Juliet. 


The  Fatal  Message  121 

Mrs.  Bradley.  Just  the  thing. 

Yardsley.  But  I  haven't  a  suitable  costume. 

Perkins.  I'll  lend  you  my  golf  trousers,  and 
Bess  has  an  old  shirt-waist  you  could  wear 
with  'em.  Piece  it  out  a  little  so  that  you 
could  get  into  it,  and  hang  the  baby's  toy 
sword  at  your  side,  and  carry  his  fireman's 
hat  under  your  arm,  and  you'd  make  a  dandy- 
looking  Romeo.  Some  people  might  think 
you  were  a  new  woman,  but  if  somebody  were 
to  announce  to  the  audience  that  you  were 
not  that,  but  the  Hon.  R.  Montague,  Esq.,  it 
would  be  all  right  and  exceedingly  amusing. 
I'll  do  the  announcing  with  the  greatest  of 
pleasure.  Really  think  I'd  enjoy  it. 

Miss  Andrews.  I  think  it  would  be  much 
better  to  get  up  Mrs.  Jarley's  waxworks. 

Perkins.  Oh  dear,  Miss  Andrews,  never. 
Mrs.  Jarley  awakens  too  many  bitter  memories 
in  me.  I  was  Mrs.  Jarley  once,  and — 

Yardsley.  It  must  have  been  awful.  If 
there  is  anything  in  life  that  could  be  more 
horrible  than  you,  with  your  peculiar  style  of 
humor,  trying  to  do  Jarley,  I — 

Perkins.  Oh,  well,  what's  the  odds  what  we 


122  The  Fatal  Message 

do  ?  We're  only  amateurs,  anyhow.  Yardsley 
can  put  on  a  pair  of  tight  boots,  and  give  us  an 
impression  of  Irving,  or  perhaps  an  imitation 
of  the  Roman  army  at  the  battle  of  Philippi, 
and  the  audience  wouldn't  care,  as  long  as 
they  had  a  good  supper  afterwards.  It  all 
rests  with  Martenelli  whether  it's  a  go  to-night. 
If  he  doesn't  spoil  the  supper,  it  '11  be  all 
right.  I  have  observed  that  the  principal 
factors  of  success  at  amateur  dramatics  are 
an  expert  manipulation  of  the  curtain,  and  a 
first-class  feed  to  put  the  audience  in  a  good- 
humor  afterwards.  Even  if  Martenelli  does  go 
back  on  us,  you'll  have  me  with  the  curtain — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Thaddeus ! 

Yardsley.  By  Jove  !  that's  a  good  idea — we 
have  got  you.  You  can  read  Henderson's 
part! 

Perkins.  What— I? 

Barlow.  Certainly. 

Bradley.  Just  the  very  thing. 

Miss  Andrews.  Splendid  idea. 

Perkins.  Oh — but  I  say— I  can't,  you  know. 
Nonsense !  I  can't  read. 

Yardsley.    I've    often   suspected   that  you 


The  Fatal  Message  123 

couldn't,  my  dear  Thaddeus ;  but  this  time 
you  must. 

Perkins.  But  the  curtain — the  babies — the 
audience — the  ushing — the  fire  department — 
it  is  too  much.  I'm  not  an  octopus. 

Barlow  (taking  him  by  the  arm  and  pushing 
him  into  chair).  You  can't  get  out  of  it,  Ted. 
Here— read  up.  There — take  my  book. 

[  Thrusts  play-book  into  his  hand. 

Bradley.  Here's  mine,  too,  Thaddeus.  Read 
'em  both  at  once,  and  then  you'll  have  gone 
over  it  twice. 

[  Throws  his  book  into  Perkins's  lap. 

Perkins.  I  tell  you — 

Mrs.  Perkins.  Just  this  once,  Teddy— please 
— for  me. 

Yardsley.  You  owe  it  to  your  position,  Per- 
kins. You  are  the  only  man  here  that  knows 
anything  about  anything.  You've  frequently 
said  so.  You  were  doing  it  all,  anyhow,  you 
know— and  you're  host— the  audience  are  your 
guests — and  you're  so  clever  and — 

Perkins.  But— 

Enter  Jennie. 

Jennie.  Dinner  is  served,  ma'am.          [Exit. 


124  The  Fatal  Message 

Yardsley.  Good  !  Perk,  I'll  be  your  under- 
study at  dinner,  while  you  are  studying  up. 
Ladies  and  gentlemen,  kindly  imagine  that  I 
am  host,  that  Perkins  does  not  exist.  Come 
along,  Mrs.  Bradley.  Miss  Andrews,  will  you 
take  my  other  arm?  I'll  escort  Lady  Ama- 
ranth and  the  maid  out.  We'll  leave  the  two 
Featherheads  to  fight  it  out  for  the  Lady  El- 
len. By-by,  Thaddeus ;  don't  shirk.  I'll  come 
in  after  the  salade  course  and  hear  you,  and  if 
you  don't  know  your  lesson  I'll  send  you  to 
bed  without  your  supper. 

[All go  out,  leaving  Perkins  alone. 
Perkins  {forcing  a  laugh}.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! 
Good  joke,  confound  your  eyes !  Hurnph ! 
very  well.  I'll  do  it.  Whole  thing,  eh?  Cur- 
tain, babies,  audience,  host.  All  right,  my  no- 
ble Thespians,  wait !  (Shakes  fist  at  the  door.) 
I  will  do  the  whole  thing.  Wait  till  they  ring 
you  up,  O  curtain  !  Up  you  will  go,  but  then 
— then  will  I  come  forth  and  read  that  book 
from  start  to  finish,  and  if  any  one  of  'em 
ventures  to  interfere  I'll  drop  thee  on  their 
most  treasured  lines.  They  little  dream  how 
much  they  are  in  the  power  of  you  and  me ! 


The  Fatal  Message  125 

Enter  Jennie. 

Jennie.  Mrs.  Perkins  says  aren't  you  coming 
to  dinner,  sir ;  and  Mr.  Yardsley  says  the  soup 
is  getting  cold,  sir. 

Perkins.  In  a  minute,  Jennie.  Tell  Mrs. 
Perkins  that  I  am  just  learning  the  last  ten 
lines  of  the  third  act ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Yards- 
ley,  kindly  insinuate  to  him  that  he'll  find  the 
soup  quite  hot  enough  at  8.30. 

[Exit  Jennie.  Perkins  sits  down,  and,  tak- 
ing up  two  books  of  the  play,  one  in  each 
hand,  begins  to  read. 

[CURTAIN] 


A  PROPOSAL  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES 


CHARACTERS  : 
ROBERT  YARDSLEY,) 

JACK  BARLOW,         /  Sui*°rs  f°r  th*  ****  °f  Mis 
DOROTHY  ANDREWS,  a  muck-loved  young  woman. 
JENNIE,  a  housemaid. 
HICKS,  a  coachman,  who  does  not  appear. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  a  fashionable  New  York 
drawing-room.  The  time  is  late  in  October, 
and  Wednesday  afternoon.  The  curtain  ris- 
ing shows  an  empty  room.  A  bell  rings. 
After  a  pause  the  front  door  is  heard  opening 
and  closing.  Enter  Yardsley  through  por- 
tiere at  rear  of  room. 

Yardsley.  Ah  !  So  far  so  good  ;  but  I  wish 
it  were  over.  I've  had  the  nerve  to  get  as  far 
as  the  house  and  into  it,  but  how  much  fur- 
ther my  courage  will  carry  me  I  can't  say. 
Confound  it !  Why  is  it,  I  wonder,  that  men 
get  so  rattled  when  they're  head  over  heels 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    127 

in  love,  and  want  to  ask  the  fair  object  of  their 
affections  to  wed?  I  can't  see.  Now  I'm 
brave  enough  among  men.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
anything  that  walks,  except  Dorothy  Andrews, 
and  generally  I'm  not  afraid  of  her.  Stopping 
runaway  teams  and  talking  back  to  impudent 
policemen  have  been  my  delight.  I've  even 
been  courageous  enough  to  submit  a  poem  in 
person  to  the  editor  of  a  comic  weekly,  and 
yet  here  this  afternoon  I'm  all  of  a  tremble. 
And  for  what  reason  ?  Just  because  I've 
co-come  to  ask  Dorothy  Andrews  to  change 
her  name  to  Mrs.  Bob  Yardsley;  as  if  that 
were  such  an  unlikely  thing  for  her  to  do. 
Gad !  I'm  almost  inclined  to  despise  myself. 
(Surveys  himself  in  the  mirror  at  one  end  of 
the  room.  Then  walking  up  to  it  and  peering 
intently  at  his  reflection,  he  continues.)  Bah ! 
you  coward!  Afraid  of  a  woman — a  sweet 
little  woman  like  Dorothy.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself,  Bob  Yardsley.  She  won't 
hurt  you.  Brace  up  and  propose  like  a  man 
— like  a  real  lover  who'd  go  through  fire 
for  her  sake,  and  all  that.  Ha !  That's  easy 
enough  to  talk  about,  but  how  shall  I  put  it  ? 


128    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

That's  the  question.  Let  me  see.  How  do  men 
do  it  ?  I  ought  to  buy  a  few  good  novels  and 
select  the  sort  of  proposal  I  like ;  but  not  hav- 
ing a  novel  at  hand,  I  must  invent  my  own. 
How  will  it  be  ?  Something  like  this,  I  fancy. 
(The  portieres  are  parted,  and  Jennie,  the  maid, 
enters.  Yardsley  does  not  observe  her  entrance) 
I'll  get  down  on  my  knees.  A  man  on  his 
knees  is  a  pitiable  object,  and  pity,  they  say, 
is  akin  to  love.  Maybe  she'll  pity  me,  and 
after  that — well,  perhaps  pity's  cousin  will 
arrive.  (The  maid  advances,  but  Yardsley  is 
so  intent  upon  his  proposal  that  he  still  fails  to 
observe  her.  She  stands  back  of  the  sofa,  while 
he,  gazing  downward,  kneels  before  it)  I'll 
say  :  "  Divine  creature !  At  last  we  are  alone, 
and  I— ah— I  can  speak  freely  the  words  that 
have  been  in  my  heart  to  say  to  you  for  so 
long — oh,  so  long  a  time."  (Jennie  appears 
surprised)  "  I  have  never  even  hinted  at  how 
I  feel  towards  you.  I  have  concealed  my  love, 
fearing  lest  by  too  sudden  a  betrayal  of  my 
feelings  I  should  lose  all."  (Aside.)  Now  for 
a  little  allusion  to  the  poets.  Poetry,  they 
say,  is  a  great  thing  for  proposals.  "You 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     129 

know,  dearest,  you  must  know,  how  the  poet 
has  phrased  it — '  Fain  would  I  fall  but  that  I 
fear  to  climb.'  But  now — now  I  must  speak. 


" '  DIVINE  CREATURE'" 

An  opportunity  like  this  may  not  occur  again. 
Will  you — will  you  be  my  wife  ?" 

[Jennie  gives  a  little  scream  of  delight. 

Jennie.  Oh,  Mr.  Yardsley,  this  is  so  suddent 

like  and  unexpected,  and  me  so  far  ben'eath 


you 


[Yardsley  looks  up  and  is   covered  with 

confttsion. 
Yardsley.  Great  Scott !  What  have  I  done  ? 


i}o    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Jennie.  But  of  course  it  ain't  for  the  likes 
of  me  to  say  no  to — 

Yardsley  (rising).  For  Heaven's  sake,  Jen- 
nie— do  be  sensi —  Don't — say —  Jennie,  why 
—  (Aside.}  Oh,  confound  it !  What  the 
shall  I  say?  What's  the  matter  with 
my  tongue?  Where's  my  vocabulary?  A 
word !  a  word !  my  kingdom  for  a  word ! 
(Aloud?)  Now,  Jen — 

Jennie  (coyly).  I  has  been  engaged  to  Mr. 
Hicks,  the  coach  gentleman,  sir,  but — 

Yardsley.  Good  !  good  !  I  congratulate  you, 
Jennie.  Hicks  is  a  very  fine  fellow.  Drives 
like  a  —  like  a  driver,  Jennie,  a  born  driver. 
I've  seen  him  many  a  time  sitting  like  a  king 
on  his  box — yes,  indeed.  Noticed  him  often. 
Admired  him.  Gad,  Jennie,  I'll  see  him  my- 
self and  tell  him  ;  and  what  is  more,  Jennie, 
I'll — I'll  give  Hicks  a  fine  present. 

Jennie.  Yes,  sir;  I  has  no  doubt  as  how 
you'll  be  doin'  the  square  thing  by  Hicks,  for, 
as  I  was  a-sayin',  I  has  been  engaged  like  to 
him,  an'  he  has  some  rights  ;  but  I  think  as 
how,  if  I  puts  it  to  him  right  like,  and  tells 
him  what  a  nice  gentleman  you  are  (a  ring  is 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     131 

heard  at  the  front  door},  it  '11  be  all  right,  sir. 
But  there  goes  the  bell,  and  I  must  run,  Mr. 
Yardsley.  (Ecstatically  kissing  her  hand.} 
Bob! 

Yardsley  (with  a  convulsive  gasp).  Bob? 
Jennie !  You — er — you  misun —  (Jennie,  with 
a  smile  of  joy  and  an  ecstatic  glance  at  Yards- 
ley,  dances  from  the  room  to  attend  the  door. 
Yardsley  throws  himself  into  a  chair.}  Well, 
I'll  be  teetotally —  Awh  !  It's  too  dead  easy 
proposing  to  somebody  you  don't  know  you 
are  proposing  to.  What  a  kettle  of  fish  this 
is,  to  be  sure !  Oh,  pshaw !  that  woman  can't 
be  serious.  She  must  know  I  didn't  mean  it 
for  her.  But  if  she  doesn't,  good iLord  !  wnat 
becomes  of  me  ?  (Rises,  and  paces  up  and 
down  the  room  nervously.  After  a  moment  he 
pauses  before  the  glass?)  I  ought  to  be  consid- 
erably diohevcildd  by  this.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been 
drawn  through  a  knot-hole — or — or  dropped 
into  a  stone-crusher — that's  it,  a  stone-crusher 
—a  ten  million  horse -power  stone  -  crusher. 
Let's  see  how  you  look,  you  poor  idiot. 

[As  he  is  stroking  his  hair  and  rearrang- 
ing his  tie  he  talks  in  pantomime  at  him- 


1)2    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

self  in  the  glass.     In  a  moment  Jennie 
ushers  Mr.  Jack  Barlow  into  the  room. 
Jennie.  Miss  Andrews  will   be  down  in  a 
minute,  sir. 

[Barlow  takes  arm-chair  and  sits  gazing 
ahead  of  him.  Neither  he  nor  Yardsley 
perceives  the  other.  Jennie  tiptoes  to 
one  side,  and,  tossing  a  kiss  at  Yardsley, 
retires. 

Barlow.  Now  for  it.  I  shall  leave  this 
house  to-day  the  happiest  or  the  most  miser- 
able man  in  creation,  and  I  rather  think  the 
odds  are  in  my  favor.  Why  shouldn't  they 
be  ?  Egad  !  I  can  very  well  understand  how 
a  woman  could  admire  me.  I  admire  myself, 
rather.  I  confess  candidly  that  I  do  not  con- 
sider myself  half  bad,  and  Dorothy  has  always 
seemed  to  feel  that  way  herself.  In  fact,  the 
other  night  in  the  Perkinses  conservatory 
she  seemed  to  be  quite  ready  for  a  proposal. 
I'd  have  done  it  then  and  there  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  confounded  Bob  Yardsley — 

Yardsley  (turning  sharply  about}.  Eh  ? 
Somebody  spoke  my  name.  A  man,  too. 
Great  heavens !  I  hope  Jennie's  friend  Hicks 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    133 

isn't  here.  I  don't  want  to  have  a  scene  with 
Hicks.  (Discovering  Barlow.)  Oh— ah— why 
—hullo,  Barlow  !  You  here  ? 

Barlow  (impatiently,  aside}.  Hang  it !  Yards- 
ley's  here  too !  The  man's  always  turning 
up  when  he's  not  wanted.  (Aloud}  Ah ! 
why,  Bob,  how  are  you  ?  What  're  you  doing 
here? 

Yardsley.  What  do  you  suppose  — tuning 
the  piano?  I'm  here  because  I  want  to  be. 
And  you  ? 

Barlow.  For  the  same  reason  that  you  are. 

Yardsley  (aside).  Gad  !  I  hope  not.  (Aloud} 
Indeed?  The  great  mind  act  again?  Run 
in  the  same  channel,  and  all  that  ?  Glad  to 
see  you.  (Aside}  May  the  saints  forgive 
me  that  fib !  But  this  fellow  must  be  got  rid 
of. 

Barlow  (embarrassed}.  So'm  I.  Always  glad 
to  see  myself — I  mean  you — anywhere.  Won't 
you  sit  down  ? 

Yardsley.  Thanks.  Very  kind  of  you,  I'm 
sure.  (Aside}  He  seems  very  much  at  home. 
Won't  I  sit  down?— as  if  he'd  inherited  the 
chairs  !  Humph  !  I'll  show  him. 


134    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow.  What  say  ? 

Yardsley.  I— ah— oh,  I  was  merely  remark- 
ing that  I  thought  it  was  rather  pleasant  out 
to-day. 

Barlow.  Yes,  almost  too  fine  to  be  shut  up 
in-doors.  Why  aren't  you  driving,  or — or  play- 
ing golf,  or — ah — or  being  out-doors  some- 
where ?  You  need  exercise,  old  man ;  you 
look  a  little  pale.  (Aside.)  I  must  get  him 
away  from  here  somehow.  Deuced  awkward 
having  another  fellow  about  when  you  mean 
to  propose  to  a  woman. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  I'm  well  enough  ! 

Barlow  (solicitously).  You  don't  look  it — by 
Jove  you  don't.  (Suddenly  inspired.)  No, 
you  don't,  Bob.  You  overestimate  your 
strength.  It's  very  wrong  to  overestimate 
one's  strength.  People  — ah  —  people  have 
died  of  it.  Why,  I'll  bet  you  a  hat  you  can't 
start  now  and  walk  up  to  Central  Park  and 
back  in  an  hour.  Come.  I'll  time  you.  (Rises 
and  takes  out  watch.)  It  is  now  four  ten.  I'll 
wager  you  can't  get  back  here  before  five 
thirty.  Eh  ?  Let  me  get  your  hat. 

[Starts for  door. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     135 


Yardsley  (with  a  laugh}.  Oh  no  ;  I  don't  bet 
— after  four.  But  I  say,  did  you  see  Billie 
Wilkins? 

Barlow,  (retitrning  in  despair}.  Nope. 

Yardsley  (aside}. 
Now  for  a  bit  of 
atraiasyi  (Aloud.) 
He  was  looking 
for  you  at  the  club. 
(Aside)  Splendid 
lie!  (Aloud.)  Had 
seats  for  the — ah 
—  the  Metropoli- 
tan to-night.  Said 
he  was  looking  for 
you.  Wants  you 
to  go  with  him. 
(Aside.)  That  ought  to  start  him  along. 

Barlow.  I'll  go  with  him. 

Yardsley  (eagerly).  Well,  you'd  better  let 
him  know  at  once,  then.  Better  run  around 
there  and  catch  him  while  there's  time.  He 
said  if  he  didn't  see  you  before  half-past  four 
he'd  get  Tom  Parker  to  go.  Fine  show  to- 
night. Wouldn't  lose  the  opportunity  if  I 


I'LL  TIME  YOU: 


i}6    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

were  you.  (Looking  at  his  watch.)  You'll 
just  about  have  time  to  do  it  now  if  you  start 
at  once. 

[Grasps  Barlow  by  arm,  and  tries  to  force 
him  out.    Barlow  holds  back,  and  is  about 
to   remonstrate,  -when   Dorothy   enters. 
Both  men  rush  to  greet  her ;  Yard  si  ey 
catches  her  left  hand,  Barlow  her  right. 
Dorothy  (slightly  embarrassed}.  Why,  how 
do  you  do — this  is  an  unexpected  pleasure — 
both  of  you?  Excuse 
my    left    hand,   Mr. 
Yardsley;   I    should 
have  given  you  the 
other    if  —  if    you'd 
given  me  time. 

Yardsley.  Don't 
mention  it,  I  pray. 
The  unexpectedness 
is  wholly  mine,  Miss 
Andrews — I  mean — 

"'START  AT  ONCE'" 

ah — the  pleasure  is — 
Barlow.  Wholly  mine. 

Dorothy  (withdrawing  her  hands  from  both 
and  sitting  down).  I  haven't  seen  either  of  you 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    137 

since  the  Perkinses  dance.  Wasn't  it  a  charm- 
ing affair  ? 

Yardsley.  Delightful.  I — ah — I  didn't  know 
that  the  Perkinses — 

Barlow  (interrupting).  It  was  a  good  deal 
of  a  crush,  though.  As  Mrs.  Van  Darling  said 
to  me,  "  You  always  meet — 

Yardsley.  It's  a  pity  Perkins  isn't  more  of  a 
society  man,  though,  don't  you  think  ? 

Dorothy.  O,  I  don't  know.  I've  always  found 
him  very  pleasant.  He  is  so  sincere. 

Barlow.  Isn't  he,  though  ?  He  looked  bored 
to  death  all  through  the  dance. 

Yardsley.  I  thought  so  too.  I  was  watch- 
ing him  while  you  were  talking  to  him,  Bar- 
low, and  such  a  look  of  »imw  I  never  saw  on 

W*-'**AAVC»VU 
a  man  s  face. 

Barlow.  Humph! 

Dorothy.  Are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Van  Dar- 
ling's dinner? 

Barlow.  Yes ;  I  received  my  bid  last  night. 
You? 

Dorothy.  Oh  yes ! 

Yardsley  (gloomily}.  I  can't  go  very  well. 
I'm — ah — engaged  for  Tuesday. 


138    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow.  Well,  I  hope  you've  let  Mrs.  Van 
Darling  know.  She's  a  stickler  for  prompt- 
ness in  accepting  or  declining  her  invitations. 
If  you  haven't,  I'll  tell  her  for  you.  I'm  to  see 
her  to-night. 

Yardsley.  Oh  no!  Never  mind.  I'll— I'll 
attend  to  it. 

Barlow.  Oh,  of  course.  But  it's  just  as  well 
she  should  know  in  advance.  You  might  for- 
get it,  you  know.  I'll  tell  her;  it's  no  trouble 
to  me. 

Dorothy.  Of  course  not,  and  she  can  get 
some  one  to  take  your  place. 

Yardsley  (desperately).  Oh,  don't  say  any- 
thing about  it.  Fact  is,  she — ah — she  hasn't 
invited  me. 

Barlow.  Ah !  (Aside^  I  knew  that  all  along. 
Oh,  but  I'm  clever ! 

Dorothy  (hastily,  to  relieve  Yardsley 's  embar- 
rassment). Have  you  seenlrving,  Mr. Yardsley  ? 

Yardsley.  Yes. 

Barlow  (siispiciously).  What  in?  I  haven't 
seen  you  at  any  of  the  first  nights. 

Yardsley  (with  a  grin).  In  the  grill-room  at 
the  Players. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     139 

Barlow  (aside).  Bah ! 

Dorothy  (laughing).  You  are  so  bright,  Mr. 
Yardsley. 

Barlow  (forcing  a  laugh).  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Why, 
yes — very  clever  that.  It  ought  to  have  a 
Gibson  picture  over  it,  that  joke.  It  would 
help  it.  Those  Gibson  pictures  are  fine,  I 
think.  Carry  any  kind  of  joke,  eh  ? 

Yardsley.  Yes,  they  frequently  do. 

Dorothy.  I'm  so  glad  you  both  like  Gibson, 
for  I  just  dote  on  him.  I  have  one  of  his  orig- 
inals in  my  portfolio.  I'll  get  it  if  you'd  like 
to  see  it. 

\She  rises  and  goes  to  the  corner  of  the 
room,  where  there  stands  a  portfolio-case. 

Yardsley  (aside).  What  a  bore  Barlow  is ! 
Hang  him  !     I  must  get  rid  of  him  somehow. 
[Barlow  meanwhile  is  assisting  Dorothy. 

Yardsley  (looking  around  at  the  others).  Jove ! 
he's  off  in  the  corner  with  her.  Can't  allow 
that,  for  the  fact  is  Barlow's  just  a  bit  dan- 
gerous— to  me. 

Dorothy  (rummaging  through  portfolio). 
Why,  it  was  here — 

Barlow.  Maybe  it's  in  this  other  portfolio. 


140    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Yardsley  (joining  them).  Yes,  maybe  it  is. 
That's  a  good  idea.  If  it  isn't  in  one  portfolio 
maybe  it's  in  another.  Clever  thought !  I 
may  be  bright,  Miss  Andrews,  but  you  must 
have  observed  that  Barlow  is  thoughtful. 

Dorothy  (with  a  glance  at  Barlow).  Yes,  Mr. 
Yardsley,  I  have  noticed  the  latter. 

Barlow.  Tee-hee  !  that's  one  on  you,  Bob. 
Yardsley  (obtuse).  Ha,  ha !  Yes.  Why,  of 
course !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  For  repartee  I  have 
always  said — polite  repartee,  of  course — Miss 
Andrews  is —  (Aside.)  Now  what  the  dickens 
did  she  mean  by  that  ? 

Dorothy.  I  can't  find  it  here.  Let — me  think. 
Where — can — it — be  ? 

Barlow  (striking  thoughtful  attitude).  Yes, 
where  can  it  be  ?  Let  me  do  your  thinking 
for  you,  Miss  Dorothy.  (Then  softly  to  her.) 
Always ! 

Yardsley  (mocking  Barlow).  Yes !  Let  me 
think  !  (Points  his  finger  at  his  forehead  and 
assumes  tragic  attitude.  Then  stalks  to  the 
front  of  stage  in  manner  of  burlesque  Ham- 
let.) Come,  thought,  come.  Shed  the  glory  of 
thy  greatness  full  on  me,  and  thus  confound 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     141 

"l-VN.  «^V't>"^^C*f 

mine  enemies.     Where, the  deuce  is  that  Gib- 
son? 

Dorothy.  Oh,  I  remember.  It's  up-stairs.  I 
took  it  up  with  me  last  night.  I'll  ring  for 
Jennie,  and  have  her  get  it. 

Yardsley  (aside,  and  in  consternation).  Jennie  ! 
Oh,  thunder !  I'd  forgotten  her.  I  do  hope 
she  remembers  not  to  forget  herself. 

Barlow.  What  say  ? 

Yardsley.  Nothing;  only — ah — only  that  I 
thought  it  was  very — very  pleasant  out. 

Barlow.  That's  what  you  said  before. 

Yardsley  (indignantly).  Well,  what  of  it? 
It's  the  truth.  If  you  don't  believe  it,  go  out- 
side and  see  for  yourself. 

[Jennie  appears  at  the  door  in  response  to 
Dorothy's  ring.  She  glances  demurely 
at  Yardsley,  who  tries  to  ignore  her 
presence. 

Dorothy.  Jennie,  go  up  to  my  room  and  look 
on  the  table  in  the  corner,  and  bring  me  down 
the  portfolio  you  will  find  there.  The  large 
brown  one  that  belongs  in  the  stand  over  there. 

Jennie  (dazed}.  Yessum.  And  shall  I  be 
bringin'  lemons  with  it  ? 


142    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Dorothy.  Lemons,  Jennie? 

Jennie.  You  always  does  have  lemons  with 
your  tea,  mum. 

Dorothy.  I  didn't  mention  tea.  I  want  you 
to  get  my  portfolio  from  up-stairs.  It  is  on 
the  table  in  the  corner  of  my  room. 

\Looks  at  Jennie  in  surprise. 

Jennie.  Oh,  excuse  me,  mum.  I  didn't  hear 
straight. 

[She  casts  a  languishing  glance  at  Yards- 
ley  and  disappears. 

Yardsley  (noting  the  glance,  presumably 
aside}.  Confound  that  Jennie  ! 

Barlow  (overhearing  Yardsley).  What's 
that?  Confound  that  Jennie?  Why  say  con- 
found that  Jennie  ?  Why  do  you  wish  Jennie 
to  be  confounded  ? 

Yardsley  (nervously}.  I  didn't  say  that.  I — 
ah — I  merely  said  that — that  Jennie  appeared 
to  be — ah — confounded. 

Dorothy.  She  certainly  is  confused.  I  can- 
not understand  it  at  all.  Ordinarily  I  have 
rather  envied  Jennie  her  composure. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  I  suppose— it's — it's — it's  nat- 
ural for  a  young  girl— a  servant— sometimes 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    143 


to  lose  her — etWMPSr  as  it  were,  on  occa- 
sions. If  we  lose  ours  at  times,  why  not  Jen- 
nie? Eh?  Huh? 

Barlow.  Certainly. 

Yardsley.  Of  course— ha— trained  servants 
are  hard  to  get  these  days,  anyhow.  Educated 
people  —  ah  —  go  into  other  professions,  such 
as  law,  and — ah — the  ministry — and — 

Dorothy.  Well,  never  mind.  Let's  talk  of 
something  more  interesting  than  Jennie.  Go- 
ing to  the  Chrysanthemum  Show,  Mr.  Barlow? 

Barlow.  I  am ;  wouldn't  miss  it  for  the 
world.  Do  you  know,  really  now,  the  chrys- 
anthemum, in  my  opinion,  is  the  most  human- 
looking  flower  we  have.  The  rose  is  too 
beautiful,  too  perfect,  for  me.  The  chrysan- 
themum, on  the  other  hand — 

Yardsley  (interrupting).  Looks  so  like  a 
football-player's  head  it  appeals  to  your  sym- 
pathies? Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  I 
never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before,  but — 

Dorothy  (smiling).  Nor  I ;  but  now  that  you 
mention  it,  it  does  look  that  way,  doesn't  it  ? 

Barlow  (not  wishing  to  disagree  with  Dor- 
othy). Very  much.  Droll  idea,  though.  Just 


144    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

like  Bob,  eh?    Very,  very  droll.    Bob's  always 
dro — 

Yardsley  (interrupting}.  When  I  see  a  man 
walking  down  the  Avenue  with  a  chrysanthe- 
mum in  his  button-hole,  I  always  think  .of  a  fl» 

«JJk,      *V»..<fc.,*«..AAw 

wild   Indian  wearing  a  scalp  for  aeterative 
purpose. 

[Barlow  and  Dorothy  laugh  at  this,  and 
during  their  mirth  Jennie  enters  with 
the  portfolio.     She  hands  it  to  Dorothy. 
Dorothy  rests  it  on  the  arm  of  her  chair, 
and  Barlow  looking  over  one  shoulder, 
she  goes  through  it.   Jennie  in  passing 
out  throws  another  kiss  to  Yardsley. 
Yardsley  (under  his   breath,   stamping   his 
foot).  Awgh ! 
Barlow.  What  say? 

[Dorothy  looks  up,  surprised. 
Yardsley.  I — I  didn't  say  anything.     My — 
ah — my  shoe  had  a  piece  of — ah — 
Barlow.  Oh,  say  lint,  and  be  done  with  it. 
Yardsley    ( relieved,   and  thankful  for   the 
suggestion}.  Why,  how  did   you   know?     It 
did,  you  know.     Had  a  piece  of  lint  on  it, 
and  I  tried  to  get  it  off  by  stamping,  that's  all. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    145 

Dorothy.  Ah,  here  it  is. 

Yardsley.  What  ?    Thte  lint  ? 

Barlow.  Ho  !  Is  the  world  nothing  but  lint 
to  you  ?  Of  course  not — the  Gibson.  Charm- 
ing, isn't  it,  Miss  Dorothy  ? 


"'  CHARMING,  ISN'T  IT?'" 

Dorothy  (holding  the  picture  up}.  Fine. 
Just  look  at  that  girl.  Isn't  she  pretty  ? 

Barlow.  Very. 

Dorothy.  And  such  style,  too. 

Yardsley  (looking  over  Dorothy's  other  shoul- 
der}. Yes,  very  pretty,  and  lots  of  style.  (Soft- 
ly.) Very — like  some  one — some  one  I  know. 


146    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow  (overhearing).  I  think  so  myself, 
Yardsley.  It's  exactly  like  Josie  Wilkins. 
By-the-way— ah — how  is  that  little  affair  com- 
ing along,  Bob  ? 

Dorothy  (interested}.  What !  You  don't 
mean  to  say —  Why,  Mister  Yardsley ! 

Yardsley  (wztk  a  venomous  glance  at  Barlow). 
Nonsense.  Nothing  in  it.  Mere  invention 
of  Barlow's.  He's  a  regular  Edison  in  his 
own  way. 

[Dorothy  looks  inquiringly  at  Barlow. 

Barlow  (to  Yardsley).  Oh,  don't  be  so  sly 
about  it,  old  fellow  !  Everybody  knows. 

Yardsley.  But  I  tell  you  there's  nothing  in 
it.  I — I  have  different  ideas  entirely,  and  you 
— you  know  it — or,  if  you  don't,  you  will 
shortly. 

Dorothy.  Oh !  Then  it's  some  one  else,  Mr. 
Yardsley?  Well,  now  I  am  interested.  Let's 
have  a  little  confidential  talk  together.  Tell 
us,  Mr.  Yardsley,  tell  Mr.  Barlow  and  me,  and 
maybe — I  can't  say  for  certain,  of  course — but 
maybe  we  can  help  you. 

Barlow  (gleefully  rubbing  his  hands).  Yes,  old 
man ;  certainly.  Maybe  we — we  can  help  you. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     147 

Yardsley  (desperately).  You  can  help  me, 
both  of  you — but — but  I  can't  very  well  tell 
you  how. 

Barlow.  I'm  willing  to  do  all  I  can  for  you, 
my  dear  Bob.  If  you  will  only  tell  us  her 
name  I'll  even  go  so  far  as  to  call,  in  your  be- 
half, and  propose  for  you. 

Yardsley.  Oh,  thanks.     You  are  very  kind. 

Dorothy.  I  think  so  too,  Mr.  Barlow.  You 
are  almost  too  kind,  it  seems  to  me. 

Yardsley.  Oh  no ;  not  too  kind,  Miss  An- 
drews. Barlow  simply  realizes  that  one  who 
has  proposed  marriage  to  young  girls  as  fre- 
quently as  he  has  knows  how  the  thing  is 
done,  and  he  wishes  to  give  me  the  benefit  of 
his  experience.  (Aside.}  That's  a  facer  for 
Barlow. 

Barlow.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Another  joke,  I  sup- 
pose. You  see,  my  dear  Bob,  that  I  am  duly 
appreciative.  I  laugh.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  But  I 
must  say  I  laugh  with  some  uncertainty.  I 
don't  know  whether  you  intended  that  for  a 
joke  or  for  a  staggerer.  You  should  provide 
your  conversation  with  a  series  of  printed  in- 
structions for  the  listener.  Get  a  lot  of  cards, 


143    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

and  have  printed  on  one,  "  Please  laugh " ; 
on  another,  "  Please  stagger  " ;  on  another, 
"  Kindly  appear  confused."  Then  when  you 
mean  to  be  jocose  hand  over  the  laughter 
card,  and  so  on.  Shall  I  stagger  ? 

Dorothy.  I  think  that  Mr.  Yardsley  meant 
that  for  a  joke.  Didn't  you,  Mr.  Yardsley  ? 

Yardsley.  Why,  certainly.  Of  course.  I 
don't  really  believe  Barlow  ever  had  sand 
enough  to  propose  to  any  one.  Did  you,  Jack  ? 

Barlow  (indignant).  Well,  I  rather  think  I 
have. 

Dorothy.  Ho,  ho !  Then  you  are  an  experi- 
enced proposer,  Mr.  Barlow  ? 

Barlow  (confused}.  Why — er — well — um — I 
didn't  exactly  mean  that,  you  know.  I  meant 
that — ah — if  it  ever  came  to  the  —  er — the 
test,  I  think  I  could — I'd  have  sand  enough, 
as  Yardsley  puts  it,  to  do  the  thing  properly, 
and  without  making  a — ah — a  Yardsley  of 
myself. 

Yardsley  (bristling  up).  Now  what  do  you 
mean  by  that  ? 

Dorothy.  I  think  you  are  both  of  you  horrid 
this  afternoon.  You  are  so  quarrelsome.  Do 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     149 

you  two  always  quarrel,  or  is  this  merely  a 
little  afternoon's  diversion  got  up  for  my  es- 
pecial benefit  ? 

Barlow  (with  dignity).  I  never  quarrel. 

Yardsley.  Nor  I.  I  simply  differ  sometimes, 
that's  all.  I  never  had  an  unpleasant  word 
with  Jack  in  my  life.  Did  I,  Jack  ? 

Barlow.  Never.  I  always  avoid  a  fracas, 
however  great  the  provocation. 

Dorothy  (desperately).  Then  let  us  have  a  cup 
of  tea  together  and  be  more  sociable.  I  have 
always  noticed  that  tea  promotes  sociability 
— haven't  you,  Mr.  Yardsley? 

Yardsley.  Always.  (Aside.)  Among  women. 

Barlow.  What  say? 

[  Dorothy  rises  and  rings  the  bell  for  Jennie. 

Yardsley.  I  say  that  I  am  very  fond  of  tea. 

Barlow.  So  am  I — here. 

[Rises   and  looks   at  pictures.     Yardsley 
meanwhile  sits  in  moody  silence. 

Dorothy  (returning).  You  seem  to  have 
something  on  your  mind,  Mr.  Yardsley.  I 
never  knew  you  to  be  so  solemn  before. 

Yardsley.  I  have  something  on  my  mind, 
Miss  Dorothy.  It's — 


150    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow  (corning  forward}.  Wise  man,  cold 
weather  like  this.  It  would  be  terrible  if  you 
let  your  mind  go  out  in  cold  weather  with- 
out anything  on  it.  Might  catch  cold  in  your 
idea. 

Dorothy.  I  wonder  why  Jennie  doesn't  come  ? 
I  shall  have  to  ring  again. 

{Pushes  electric  button  again. 

Yardsley  {with  an  effort  at  brilliance).  The 
kitchen  belle  doesn't  seem  to  work. 

Dorothy.  Ordinarily  she  does,  but  she  seems 
to  be  upset  by  something  this  afternoon.  I'm 
afraid  she's  in  love.  If  you  will  excuse  me  a 
moment  I  will  go  and  prepare  the  tea  myself. 

Barlow.  Do ;  good !  Then  we  shall  not  need 
the  sugar. 

Yardsley.  You  might  omit  the  spoons  too, 
after  a  remark  like  that,  Miss  Dorothy. 

Dorothy.  We'll  omit  Mr.  Barlow's  spoon. 
I'll  bring  some  for  you  and  me.  [She  goes  out. 

Yardsley  (with  a  laugh).  That's  one  on  you, 
Barlow.  But  I  say,  old  man  (taking  out  his 
watch  and  snapping  the  cover  to  three  or  four 
times),  it's  getting  very  late — after  five  now. 
If  you  want  to  go  with  Billy  Wilkins  you'd 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    151 

better  take  up  your  hat  and  walk.  I'll  say 
good-bye  to  Miss  Andrews  for  you. 

Barlow.  Thanks.  Too  late  now.  You  said 
Billie  wouldn't  wait  after  four  thirty. 

Yardsley.  Did  I  say  four  thirty  ?  I  meant 
five  thirty.  Anyhow,  Billie  isn't  over-prompt. 
Better  go. 

Barlow.  You  seem  mighty  anxious  to  get 
rid  of  me. 

Yardsley.  I  ?  Not  at  all,  my  dear  boy— 
not  at  all.  I'm  very,  very  fond  of  you,  but  I 
thought  you'd  prefer  opera  to  me.  Don't  you 
see?  That's  where  my  modesty  comes  in. 
You're  so  fond  of  a  good  chat  I  thought  you'd 
want  to  go  to-night.  Wilkins  has  a  box. 

Barlow.  You  said  seats  a  little  while  ago. 

Yardsley.  Of  course  I  did.  And  why  not  ? 
There  are  seats  in  boxes.  Didn't  you  know 
that? 

Barlow.  Look  here,  Y^ar/dsley,  what's  up,  any- 
how? You've  been  oiiJiSsi  queer  to-day. 
What  are  you  after? 

Yardsley  (tragically).  Shall  I  confide  in  you  ? 
Can  I,  with  a  sense  of  confidence  that  you  will 
not  betray  me  ? 


152    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 


Barlow  (eagerly).  Yes,  Bob.  Goon.  What 
is  it  ?  I'll  never  give  you  away,  and  1  may  be 
able  to  give  you  some  good  advice. 

Yardsley.  I  am  here  to— to— to  rob  the 
house !  Business  has  been  bad,  and  one  must 
live.  [Barlow  looks  at  him  in  disgust. 


" '  WHAT'S  UP,  ANYHOW  ?' " 

Yardsley  (mockingly).  You  have  my  secret, 
John  Barlow.  Remember  that  it  was  wrung 
from  me  in  confidence.  You  must  not  betray 
me.  Turn  your  back  while  I  Llp»p>iLiuuU> 
remove  the  piano  and  the  gas-fixtures,  won't 
you? 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    153 

Barlow  (looking  at  him  thoughtfully).  Yards- 
ley,  I  have  done  you  an  injustice. 

Yardsley.  Indeed  ? 

Barlow.  Yes.  Some  one  claimed,  at  the 
club,  the  other  day,  that  you  were  the  biggest 
donkey  in  existence,  and  I  denied  it.  I  was 
wrong,  old  man,  I  was  wrong,  and  I  apologize. 
You  are. 

Yardsley.  You  are  too  modest,  Jack.  You 
forget — yourself. 

Barlow.  Well,  perhaps  I  do ;  but  I've  noth- 
ing to  conceal,  and  you  have.  You've  been 
behaving  in  a  most  incomprehensible  fashion 
this  afternoon,  as  if  you  owned  the  house. 

Yardsley.  Well,  what  of  it  ?    Do  you  own  it? 

Barlow.  No,  I  don't,  but— 

Yardsley.  But  you  hope  to.  Well,  I  have 
no  such  mercenary  motive.  I'm  not  after 
the  house. 

Barlow  (bristling  up\  After  the  house  ?  Mer- 
cenary motive  ?  I  demand  an  explanation  of 
those  words.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Yardsley.  I  mean  this,  Jack  Barlow :  I  mean 
that  I  am  here  for — for  my  own  reasons ;  but 
you — you  have  come  here  for  the  purpose  of — 


154    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Dorothy  enters  with  a  tray,  upon  which  are 
the  tea  things. 

Barlow  (about  to  retort  to  Yardsley,  perceiv- 
ing Dorothy).  Ah  !  Let  me  assist  you. 

Dorothy.  Thank  you  so  much.  I  really  be- 
lieve I  never  needed  help  more.  (She  deliv- 
ers the  tray  to  Barlow,  who  sets  it  on  the  table. 
Dorothy,  exhausted,  drops  into  a  chair?)  Fan 
me— quick — or  I  shall  faint.  I've— I've  had  an 
awful  time,  and  I  really  don't  know  what  to  do ! 

Barlow  and  Yardsley  (together).  Why,  what's 
the  matter  ? 

Yardsley.  I  hope  the  house  isn't  on  fire? 

Barlow.  Or  that  you  haven't  been  robbed  ? 

Dorothy.  No,  no ;  nothing  like  that.  It's — 
it's  about  Jennie. 

Yardsley  (nervously).  Jennie  ?  Wha — wha — 
what's  the  matter  with  Jennie  ? 

Dorothy.  I  only  wish  I  knew.     I — 

Yardsley  (aside).  I'm  glad  you  don't. 

Barlow.  What  say  ? 

Yardsley.  I  didn't  say  anything.  Why 
should  I  say  anything?  I  haven't  anything 
to  say.  If  people  who  had  nothing  to  say 
would  not  insist  upon  talking,  you'd  be — 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     155 

Dorothy.  I  heard  the  poor  girl  weeping 
down-stairs,  and  when  I  went  to  the  dumb- 
waiter to  ask  her  what  was  the  matter,  I  heard 
—I  heard  a  man's  voice. 

Yardsley.  Man's  voice  ? 

Barlow.  Man's  voice  is  what  Miss  Andrews 
said. 

Dorothy.  Yes ;  it  was  Hicks,  our  coachman, 
and  he  was  dreadfully  angry  about  something. 

Yardsley  (sinking  into  chair).  Good  te**!G 
Hicks  !    Angry !     At — something ! 

Dorothy.  He  was  threatening  to  kill  some- 
body. 

Yardsley.  This  grows  worse  and  worse! 
Threatening  to  kill  somebody !  D-did-did 
you  o-over-overhear  huh-huh-whom  he  was 
going  to  kuk-kill  ? 

Barlow.  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Yards- 
ley  ?  Are  you  going  to  die  of  fright,  or  have 
you  suddenly  caught  a  chill? 

Dorothy.  Oh,  I  hope  not !  Don't  die  here, 
anyhow,  Mr.  Yardsley.  If  you  must  die,  please 
go  home  and  die.  I  couldn't  stand  another 
shock  to-day.  Why,  really,  I  was  nearly  fright- 
ened to  death.  I  don't  know  now  but  what 


156    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

I  ought  to  send  for  the  police,  Hicks  was  so 
violent. 

Barlow.  Perhaps  she  and  Hicks  have  had 
a  lovers'  quarrel. 

Yardsley.  Very  likely;  very  likely  indeed. 
I  think  that  is  no  doubt  the  explanation  of 
the  whole  trouble.  Lovers  will  quarrel.  They 
were  engaged,  you  know. 

Dorothy  (surprised).  No,  I  didn't  know  it. 
Were  they?  Who  told  you  ? 

Yardsley  (discovering  his  mistake).  Why — 
er — wasn't  it  you  said  so,  Miss  Dorothy  ?  Or 
you,  Barlow  ? 

Barlow.  I  have  not  the  honor  of  the  young 
woman's  confidence,  and  so  could  not  have 
given  you  the  information. 

Dorothy.  I  didn't  know  it,  so  how  could  I 
have  told  you  ? 

Yardsley  (desperately).  Then  I  must  have 
dreamed  it.  I  do  have  the  queerest  dreams 
sometimes,  but  there's  nothing  strange  about 
this  one,  anyhow.  Parlor-maids  frequently  do 
— er — become  engaged  to  coachmen  qgMMKR*- 
IxOtind  that  sort  of  thing.  It  isn't  a  rare 
occurrence  at  all.  If  I'd  said  she  was  en- 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     157 

gaged  to  Billie  Wilkins,  or  to  —  to   Barlow 
here — 

Barlow.  Or  to  yourself. 

Yardsley.  Sir?  What  do  you  mean  *P*i- 
&&BK*  That  I  am  engaged  to  Jennie  ? 

Barlow.  I  never  said  so. 

Dorothy.  Oh  dear,  let  us  have  the  tea. 
You  quarrelsome  men  are  just  wearing  me 
out.  Mr.  Barlow,  do  you  want  cream  in 
yours  ? 

Barlow.  If  you  please;  and  one  lump  of 
sugar.  (Dorothy  pours  it  out.)  Thanks. 

Dorothy.  Mr.  Yardsley  ? 

Yardsley.  Just  a  little,  Miss  Andrews.  No 
cream,  and  no  sugar. 

[Dorothy  prepares  a  cup  for  Yardsley. 
He  is  about  to  take  it  when — 

Dorothy.  Well,  I  declare !  It's  nothing  but 
hot  water  !  I  forgot  the  tea  entirely  ! 

Barlow  (with  a  laugh).  Oh,  never  mind.  Hot 
water  is  good  for  dyspepsia. 

[  With  a  significant  look  at  Yardsley. 

Yardsley.  It  depends  on  how  you  get  it. 
Mr.  Barlow.  I've  known  men  who've  got 
dyspepsia  from  living  in  hot  water  too  much. 


158    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

[As  Yardsley  speaks  the  portiere  is  violently 
clutched  from  without,  and  Jennie's  head 
is  thrust  into  the  room.  No  one  observes 
her. 

Barlow.  Well,  my  cup  is  very  satisfactory 
to  me,  Miss  Dorothy.  Fact  is,  I've  always 
been  fond  of  cambric  tea,  and  this  is  just 
right. 

Yardsley  (patronizingly).  It  is  good  for 
children. 

Jennie  (trying  to  attract  Yardsley 's  atten- 
tion). Pst! 

Yardsley.  My  mamma  lets  me  have  it  Sun- 
day nights. 
Dorothy.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Barlow.  Another  joke?     Good.     Let  me 
enjoy  it  too.    Hee,  Hee ! 
Jennie.  Pst! 

[Barlow  looks  around;  Jennie  hastily  with- 
draws her  head. 

Barlow.  I  didn't  know  you  had  steam  heat 
in  this  house. 

Dorothy.  We  haven't.     What  put  such  an 
idea  as  that  into  your  head  ? 
Barlow.  Why,  I  thought  I  heard  the  hissing 


"'PSTl' 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     159 

of  steam,  the  click  of  a  radiator,  or  something 
of  that  sort  back  by  the  door. 
Yardsley.  Maybe  the  house  is  haunted. 
Dorothy.  I  fancy  it  was  your  imagination: 
or  perhaps  it  was  the  wind  blowing  through 
the  hall.     The  pantry  window  is  open. 

Barlow.  I  guess  maybe  that's  it.     How  fine 
it  must  be  in  the  country  now ! 

[Jennie  pokes  her  head  in  through  the  por- 
tieres again,  and  follows  it  with  her  arm 
and  hand,  in  which  is  a  feather  duster, 
which  she  waves  wildly  in  an  endeavor 
to  attract  Yardsley 's  attention. 
Dorothy.  Divine.  I  should  so  love  to  be  out 
of  town  still.     It  seems  to  me  people  always 
make  a  great  mistake  returning  to  the  city  so 
early  in  the  fall.     The  country  is  really  at  its 
best  at  this  time  of  year. 

[Yardsley  turns  half  around,  and  is  about 
to  speak,  when  he  catches  sight  of  the  now 
almost  hysterical  Jennie  and  her  feather 
•  duster. 

Barlow.  Yes ;  I  think  so  too.   I  was  at  Len- 
ox last  week,  and  the  foliage  was  gorgeous. 
Yardsley  (feeling  that  he  must  say  something). 


160    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Yes.     I  suppose  all  the  feathers  on  the  maple- 
trees  are  turning  red  by  this  time. 

Dorothy.  Feathers,  Mr.  Yardsley  ? 

Barlow.  Feathers? 

Yardsley  (with  a  furtive  glance  at  Jennie). 
Ha,  ha  !  What  an  absurd  slip !  Did  I  say 
feathers  ?  I  meant — I  meant  leaves,  of  course. 
All  the  leaves  on  the  dusters  are  turning. 

Barlow.  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  you 
do  mean.  Who  ever  heard  of  leaves  on  dust- 
ers? What  are  dusters?  Do  you  know,  Miss 
Dorothy  ? 

[As  he  turns  to  Miss  Andrews,  Yardsley 
tries  to  wave  Jennie  away.  She  beckons 
with  her  arms  more  wildly  than  ever, 
and  Yardsley  silently  speaks  the  words, 
"  Go  away." 

Dorothy.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  of  any  tree 
by  that  name,  but  then  I'm  not  a — not  a  what  ? 

Yardsley  (with  a  forced  laugh).  Treeologist. 

Dorothy.  What  are  dusters,  Mr.  Yardsley  ? 

Barlow.  Yes,  old  man,  tell  us.  I'm  anxious 
to  find  out  myself.  ^ 

Yardsley  (aside).  So  am  I.  What^the  detrce 
are  dusters,  for  this  occasion  only  ?  (Aloud.) 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    161 

What  ?  Never  heard  of  dusters  ?  Ho  !  Why, 
dear  me,  where  have  you  been  all  your  lives? 
(Aside?)  Must  gain  time  to  think  up  what 
dusters  are.  (Aloud.}  Why,  they're  as  old  as 
the  hills. 

Barlow.  That  may  be,  but  I  can't  say  I  think 
your  description  is  at  all  definite. 

Dorothy.  Do  they  look  like  maples? 

Yardsley  (with  an  angry  wave  of  his  arms 
towards  Jennie).  Something  —  in  fact,  very 
much.  They're  exactly  like  them.  You  can 
hardly  tell  them  from  oaks. 

Barlow.  Oaks? 

Yardsley.  I  said  oaks.     Oaks !    O-A-K-S ! 

Barlow.  But  oaks  aren't  like  maples. 

Yardsley.  Well,  who  said  they  were  ?  We 
were  talking  about  oaks— and — er— and  dust- 
ers. We — er — we  used  to  have  a  row  of  them 
in  front  of  our  old  house  at —  (Aside?)  Now 
where  the  deuce  did  we  have  the  old  house  ? 
Never  had  one,  but  we  must  for  the  sake  of 
the  present  situation.  (Aloud?)  Up  at — at — 
Brvn-Ma*(p|pBIWII't-Troy,  or  some  such  place, 
and  —  at — they  kept  the  —  the  dust  of  the 
highway  from  getting  into  the  house.  ( With 


1 62    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 


a  sigh  of  relief.}    And  so,  you  see,  they  were 
called  dusters.   Thought  every  one  knew  that. 
[As  Yardsley  finishes,  Jennie  loses  her  bal- 
ance and  falls  headlong  into  the  room. 
Dorothy  (starting  up  hastily).  Why,  Jennie  ! 
Yardsley    ( staggering 
into  chair).  That  settles 
it.     It's  all  up  with  me. 
[Jennie  sobs,  and,  ris- 
ing, rushes  to  Yards- 
ley's  side. 

Jennie.  Save  yourself; 
he's  going  to  kill  you ! 
/  \        Dorothy.  Jennie !  What 

X  \  is  the  meaning  of  this? 

Mr.  Yardsley — can — can 
you  shed  any  light  on 
this  mystery  ? 

Yardsley  (pulling  himself  together  with  a 
great  effort}.  I  ?  I  assure  you  I  can't,  Miss 
Andrews.  How  could  I  ?  All  I  know  is  that 
somebody  is — is  going  to  kill  me,  though  for 
what  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea. 

Jennie  (indignantly).  Eh?  What!  Why,  Mr. 
Yardsley— Bob ! 


*"WHY,  JENNIE!'" 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     163 

Barlow.  Bob? 

Dorothy.  Jennie  !     Bob  ? 

Yardsley.  Don't  you  call  me  Bob. 

Jennie.  It's  Hicks.  \_Bursts  out  crying. 

Barlow.  Hicks? 

Dorothy.  Jennie,  Hicks  isn't  Bob.  His  name 
is  George. 

Yardsley  (in  a  despairing  rage).  Hicks  be — 

Dorothy.  Mr.  Yardsley ! 

Yardsley  (pulling  himself  together  again). 
Bobbed.  Hicks  be  Bobbed.  That's  what  I 
was  going  to  say. 

Dorothy.  What  on  earth  does  this  all  mean  ? 
I  must  have  an  explanation,  Jennie.     What 
have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ? 
Jennie.  Why,  I — 

Yardsley.  I  tell  you  it  isn't  true.  She's 
made  it  up  out  of  whole  cloth. 

Barlow.  What  isn't  true  ?  She  hasn't  said 
anything  yet. 

Yardsley  (desperately}.  I  refer  to  what  she's 
going  to  say.  I'm  a — a — I'm  a  mind-reader, 
and  I  see  it  all  as  plain  as  day. 

Dorothy.  I  can  best  judge  of  the  truth  of 
Jennie's  words  when  she  has  spoken  them, 


164    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Mr.  Yardsley.  Jennie,  you  may  explain,  if 
you  can.  What  do  you  mean  by  Hicks  kill- 
ing Mr.  Yardsley,  and  why  do  you  presume  to 
call  Mr.  Yardsley  by  his  first  name  ? 

Yardsley  (aside).  Heigho !  My  goose  is 
cooked. 

Barlow.  I  fancy  you  wish  you  had  taken 
that  walk  I  suggested  now. 

Yardsley.  You  always  were  a  good  deal  of 
a  fancier. 

Jennie.  I  hardly  knows  how  to  begin,  Miss 
Dorothy.  I  —  I'm  so  flabbergasted  by  all 
that's  happened  this  afternoon,  mum,  that  I 
can't  get  my  thoughts  straight,  mum. 

Dorothy.  Never  mind  getting  your  thoughts 
straight,  Jennie.  I  do  not  want  fiction.  I 
want  the  truth. 

Jennie.  Well,  mum,  when  a  fine  gentleman 
like  Mr.  Yardsley  asks — 

Yardsley.  I  tell  you  it  isn't  so. 

Jennie.  Indeed  he  did,  mum. 

Dorothy  (impatiently).  Did  what  ? 

Jennie.  Axed  me  to  marry  him,  mum. 

Dorothy.  Mr.  Yardsley — asked — you — to — 
to  marry  him?  [Barlow  whistles. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    165 

Jennie  (bursting  into  tears  again}.  Yes,  mum, 
he  did,  mum,  right  here  in  this  room.  He  got 
down  on  his  knees  to  me  on  that  Proossian 
rug  before  the  sofa,  mum.  I  was  standin' 
behind  the  sofa,  havin'  just  come  in  to  tell 
him  as  how  you'd  be  down  shortly.  He  was 
standin'  before  the  lookin'-glass  lookin'  at 
himself,  an'  when  I  come  in  he  turns  around 
and  goes  down  on  his  knees  and  says  such  an 
importunity  may  not  occur  again,  mum;  I've 
loved  you  very  long;  and  then  he  recited 
some  pottery,  mum,  and  said  would  I  be  his 
wife. 

Yardsley  (desperately).  Let  me  explain. 

Dorothy.  Wait,  Mr.  Yardsley ;  your  turn  will 
come  in  a  moment. 

Barlow.  Yes,  it  '11  be  here,  my  boy ;  don't 
fret  about  that.  Take  all  the  time  you  need 
to  make  it  a  good  one.  Gad,  if  this  doesn't 
strain  your  imagination,  nothing  will. 

Dorothy.  Go  on,  Jennie.  Then  what  hap- 
pened ? 

Yardsley  (ruuith  an  injured  expression).  Do 
you  expect  me  to  stand  here,  Miss  Andrews, 
and  hear  this  girl's  horrible  story  ? 


1 66    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow.  Then  you  know  the  story,  do  you, 
Yardsley?  It's  horrible,  and  you  are  inno- 
cent. My!  you  are  a  mind-reader  with  a 
vengeance. 

Dorothy.  Don't  mind  what  these  gentlemen 
say,  Jennie,  but  go  on. 

[Yardsley  sinks  into  the  arm-chair.  Bar- 
low chuckles ;  Miss  Andrews  glances  in- 
dignantly at  him. 

Dorothy.  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Barlow.  If  there 
is  any  humor  in  the  situation,  I  fail  to  see  it. 

Barlow  (seeing  his  error}.  Nor,  indeed,  do  I. 
I  was  not — ah — laughing  from  mirth.  That 
chuckle  was  hysterics,  Miss  Dorothy,  I  assure 
you.  There  are  some  laughs  that  can  hardly 
be  differentiated  from  sobs. 

Jennie.  I  was  all  took  in  a  heap,  mum,  to 
think  of  a  fine  gentleman  like  Mr.  Yardsley 
proposing  to  me,  mum,  and  I  says  the  same. 
Says  I,  "Oh,  Mr.  Yardsley,  this  is  so  suddent 
like,"  whereat  he  looks  up  with  a  countenance 
so  full  o'  pain  that  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  re- 
fuse him  ;  so,  fergettin'  Hicks  for  the  moment, 
I  says,  kind  of  soft  like,  certingly,  sir.  It  ain't 
for  the  likes  o'  me  to  say  no  to  the  likes  o'  him. 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     167 

Yardsley.  Then  you  said  you  were  engaged 
to  Hicks.  You  know  you  did,  Jennie. 

Barlow.  Ah  !  Then  you  admit  the  pro- 
posal? QsJuVj^U* 

Yardsley.  &**fee«l !   w  orse  and  worse !    I— 

Dorothy.  Jennie  has  not  finished  her  story. 

Jennie.  I  did  say  as  how  I  was  engaged  to 
Hicks,  but  I  thought  he  would  let  me  off ;  and 
Mr.  Yardsley  looked  glad  when  I  said  that, 
and  said  he'd  make  it  all  right  with  Hicks. 

Yardsley.  What  ?  I  ?  Jennie  O'Brien,  or 
whatever  your  horrible  name  is,  do  you  mean 
to  say  that  I  said  I'd  make  it  all  right  with 
Hicks  ? 

Jennie.  Not  in  them  words,  Mr.  Yardsley; 
but  you  did  say  as  how  you'd  see  him  your- 
self and  give  him  a  present.  You  did  indeed, 
Mr.  Yardsley,  as  you  was  a-standin'  on  that 
there  Proossian  rug. 

Dorothy.  Did  you,  Ms.  Yardsley  ? 

[Yardsley  buries  his  face  in   his  hands 
and  groans. 

Barlow.  Not  so  ready  with  your  explana- 
tions now,  eh  ? 

Dorothy.  Mr.  Barlow,  really  I  must  ask  you 


1 68    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

not  to  interfere.  Did  you  say  that,  Mr.  Yards- 
ley? 

Yardsley.  I  did,  but — 

Dorothy  (frigidly).  Go  on,  Jennie. 

Jennie.  Just  then  the  front-door  bell  rings 
and  Mr.  Barlow  comes,  and  there  wasn't  no 
more  importunity  for  me  to  speak ;  but  when 
I  got  down-stairs  into  the  kitchen,  mum,  Mr. 
Hicks  he  comes  in,  an'  (sobs) — an'  I  breaks 
with  him. 

Yardsley.  You've  broken  with  Hicks  for 
me? 

Jennie.  Yes,  I  have — but  I  wouldn't  never 
have  done  it  if  I'd  known — boo-hoo — as  how 
you'd  behave  this  way  an'  deny  ever  havin' 
said  a  word.  I — I — I  1-lo-love  Mr.  Hicks,  an' 
I — I  hate  you — and  I  wish  I'd  let  him  come 
up  and  kill  you,  as  he  said  he  would. 

Dorothy.  Jennie  !  Jennie  !  be  calm  !  Where 
is  Hicks  now  ? 

Yardsley.  That's  so.  Where  is  Hicks?  I 
want  to  see  him. 

Jennie.  Never  fear  for  that.  You'll  see  him. 
He's  layin'  for  you  outside.  An'  that,  Miss 
Dorothy,  is  why  I  was  a-wavin'  at  him  an' 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties    169 

sayin'  "  pst "  to  him.  I  wanted  to  warn  htm, 
mum,  of  his  danger,  mum,  because  Hicks  is 
very  vi'lent,  and  he  told  me  in  so  many  words 
as  how  he  was  a-goin'  to  do — him — up. 

Barlow.  You'd  better  inform  Mr.  Hicks, 
Jennie,  that  Mr.  Yardsley  is  already  done  up. 

Yardsley.  Do  me  up,  eh  ?  Well,  I  like  that. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  any  coachman  in  creation  as 
long  as  he's  off  the  box.  I'll  go  see  him  at 
once. 

Dorothy.  No  —  no — no.  Don't,  Mr.  Yards- 
ley;  don't,  I  beg  of  you.  I  don't  want  to  have 
any  scene  between  you. 

Yardsley  (heroically).  What  if  he  succeeds? 
I  don't  care.  As  Barlow  says,  I'm  done  up  as 
it  is.  I  don't  want  to  live  after  this.  What's 
the  use.  Everything's  lost. 

Barlow  (dryly).  Jennie  hasn't  thrown  you 
over  yet. 

Jennie  (sniffing  airily).  Yes,  she  has,  too.  I 
wouldn't  marry  him  now  for  all  the  world — 
an' — and  I've  lost— lost  Hicks.  (  Weeps.)  Him 
as  was  so  brave,  an'  looks  so  fine  in  livery ! 

Yardsley.  If  you'd  only  give  me  a  chance  to 
say  something — 


170    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Barlow.  Appears  to  me  you've  said  too 
much  already. 

Dorothy  (coldly).  I — I  don't  agree  with  Mr. 
Barlow.  You — you  haven't  said  enough,  Mr. 
Yardsley.  If  you  have  any  explanation  to 
make,  I'll  listen. 

Yardsley  (looks  up  gratefully.  Suddenly  his 
face  brightens.  Aside).  Gad  !  The  very  thing ! 
I'll  tell  the  exact  truth,  and  if  Dorothy  has 
half  the  sense  I  think  she  has,  I'll  get  in 
my  proposal  right  under  Barlow's  very  nose. 
(Aloud?)  My — my  explanation,  Miss  Andrews, 
is  very  simple.  I — ah — I  cannot  deny  having 
spoken  every  word  that  Jennie  has  charged 
to  my  account.  I  did  get  down  on  my  knees 
on  the  rug.  I  did  say  "divine  creature."  I 
did  not  put  it  strong  enough.  I  should  have 
said  "  divinest  of  all  creatures." 

Dorothy  (in  remonstrance).  Mr.  Yardsley ! 

Barlow  (aside}.  Magnificent  bluff !  But  why? 
(Rubs  his  forehead  in  a  puzzled  way.)  What 
the  deuce  is  he  driving  at  ? 

Yardsley.  Kindly  let  me  finish.  I  did  say 
"  I  love  you."  I  should  have  said  "  I  adore 
you ;  I  worship  you."  I  did  say  "  Will  you  be 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     171 

my  wife  ?"  and  I  was  going  to  add, "  for  if  you 
will  not,  then  is  light  turned  into  darkness  for 
me,  and  life,  which  your  'yes'  will  render  ra- 
diantly beautiful,  will  become  dull,  colorless, 
and  not  worth  the  living."  That  is  what  I 
was  going  to  say,  Miss  Andrews — Miss  Doro- 
thy— when — when  Jennie  interrupted  me  and 
spoke  the  word  I  most  wish  to  hear — spoke 
the  word  "  yes  " ;  but  it  was  not  her  yes  that 
I  wished.  My  words  of  love  were  not  for 
her. 

Barlow  (perceiving  his  drift).  Ho  !  Absurd  ! 
Nonsense !  Most  unreasonable !  You  were 
calling  the  sofa  the  divinest  of  all  creatures,  I 
suppose,  or  perhaps  asking  the — the  piano  to 
put  on  its  shoes  and — elope  with  you.  Pre- 
posterous ! 

Dorothy  (softly}.  Go  on,  Mr.  Yardsley. 

Yardsley.  I — I  spoke  a  little  while  ago  about 
sand — courage— when  it  comes  to  one's  ask- 
ing the  woman  he  loves  the  greatest  of  all 
questions.  I  was  boastful.  I  pretended  that 
I  had  that  courage ;  but — well,  I  am  not  as 
brave  as  I  seem.  I  had  come,  Miss  Dorothy, 
to  say  to  you  the  words  that  fell  on  Jennie's 


172    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

ears,  and — and  I  began  to  get  nervous — stage- 
fright,  I  suppose  it  was — and  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  rehearse  what  I  had  to  say — to  you, 
and  to  you  alone. 

Barlow.  Let  me  speak,  Miss  Andrews.     I — 

Yardsley.  You  haven't  anything  to  do  with 
the  subject  in  hand,  my  dear  Barlow,  not  a 
thing. 

Dorothy.  Jennie — what — what  have  you  to 
say? 

Jennie.  Me?  Oh,  mum,  I  hardly  knows 
what  to  say  \  This  is  suddenter  than  the 
other;  but,  Miss  Dorothy,  I'd  believe  him,  I 
would,  because— I  — I  think  he's  tellin'  the 
truth,  after  all,  for  the  reason  that — oh  dear — 
for— 

Dorothy.  Don't  be  frightened,  Jennie.  For 
what  reason? 

Jennie.  Well,  mum,  for  the  reason  that  when 
I  said  "yes,"  mum,  he  didn't  act  like  all  the 
other  gentlemen  I've  said  yes  to,  and — and 
k — kuk — kiss  me. 

Yardsley.  That's  it !  that's  it !  Do  you  sup- 
pose that  if  I'd  been  after  Jennie's  yes,  and 
got  it,  I'd  have  let  a  door -bell  and  a  sofa 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     173 

stand  between  me  and  —  the  sealing  of  the 
proposal  ? 

Barlow  (aside).  Oh,  what  nonsense  this  all 
is!  I've  got  to  get  ahead  of  this  fellow  in 
some  way.  (Aloud.)  Well,  where  do  I  come 
in?  I  came  here,  Miss  Andrews,  to  tell 
you — 

Yardsley  (interposing).  You  come  in  where 
you  came  in  before — just  a  little  late— after 
the  proposal,  as  it  were. 

Dorothy  (her  face  clearing  and  wreathing 
with  smiles).  What  a  comedy  of  errors  it 
has  all  been !  I— I  believe  you,  Mr.  Yards- 
ley. 

Yardsley.  Thank  Heaven!  And — ah — you 
aren't  going  to  say  anything  more,  D — Dor- 
othy? 

Dorothy.  I'm  afraid — 

Yardsley.  Are  you  going  to  make  me  go 
through  that  proposal  all  over  again,  now  that 
I've  got  myself  into  so  much  trouble  saying  it 
the  first  time — Dorothy  ? 

Dorothy.  No,  no.  You  needn't — you  needn't 
speak  of  it  again. 

Barlow  (aside).  Good  !     That's  his  congt. 


174    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

Yardsley.  And — then  if  I — if  I  needn't  say 
it  again?  What  then?  Can't  I  have — my 
answer  now  ?  Oh,  Miss  Andrews — 

Dorothy  (with  downcast  eyes,  softly).  What 
did  Jennie  say? 

Yardsley  (in  ecstasy).  Do  you  mean  it  ? 

Barlow.  I  fancy — I  fancy  I'd  better  go  now, 
Miss — er — Miss  Andrews.  I — I — have  an  ap- 
pointment with  Mr.  Wilkins,  and — er — I  ob- 
serve that  it  is  getting  rather  late. 

Yardsley.  Don't  go  yet,  Jack.  I'm  not  so 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  you  now. 

Barlow.  I  must  go — really. 

Yardsley.  But  I  want  you  to  make  me  one 
promise  before  you  go. 

Dorothy.  He'll  make  it,  I'm  sure,  if  I  ask 
him.  Mr.  Yardsley  and  I  want  you  —  want 
you  to  be  our  best  man. 

Yardsley.  That's  it,  precisely.    Eh,  Jack  ? 

Barlow.  Well,  yes.  I'll  be — second-best  man. 
The  events  of  the  afternoon  have  shown  my 
capacity  for  that. 

Yardsley,  Ah! 

Barlow.  And  I'll  show  my  sincerity  by 
wearing  Bob's  hat  and  coat  into  the  street 


A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties     175 


now  and  letting  the  fury  of  Hicks  fall  upon 
me. 

Jennie.  If  you  please,  Miss  Dorothy — I — I 
think  I  can  attend  to  Mr.  Hicks. 

Dorothy.  Very  well.  I  think 
that  would  be  better.  You 
may  go,  Jennie. 

[Jennie  departs. 

Barlow.  Well,  good-day.  I 
— I've  had  a  very  pleasant 
afternoon,  Miss  —  Andrews. 
Thanks  for  the — the  cambric 
tea. 

Dorothy.  Good  -  bye,  and 
don't  forget.  HICKS. 

Barlow.  I'm  afraid  —  I 
won't.  Good-bye,  Bob.  I  congratulate  you 
from  my  heart.  I  was  in  hopes  that  I  should 
have  the  pleasure  of  having  you  for  a  best  man 
at  my  wedding,  but — er — there's  many  a  slip, 
you  know,  and  I  wish  you  joy. 

[Yardsley  shakes  him  by  the  hand,  andEor- 
low  goes  out.  As  he  disappears  through 
the  portieres  Yardsley  follows,  and,  hold- 
ing the  curtain  aside,  looks  after  him  un- 


176    A  Proposal  Under  Difficulties 

///  the  front  door  is  heard  closing.  Then 
he  turns  about.  Dorothy  looks  demurely 
around  at  him,  and  as  he  starts  to  go  to 
her  side  the  curtain  falls. 


THE  END 


bC  DAVIS.  I^TEWlBRARvl  IOT~ 
SENT 


vYS 

•oks 
Jays 


269198 


Bangs,  J.K. 

Bicyclers,  and  three 
other  farces. 


PS1061* 

B3 

Bit 


PS  i OC- 
R'S 
B4 


269198 


